Breaking Down Doors
by Mummyluvr
Summary: [Sequel to Closing Doors] A demon returns, giving Sam an offer he can't refuse. But is normalcy worth it if Dean's worst fear comes true?
1. Chapter 1

All right, I finally got around to posting the sequel to "Closing Doors." As of right now, it's only about halfway done, I think, so look forward to a few slow updates (what with school and trying to finish the story). So, now that that's out of the way, let's get on with this, huh?

**Title:** Breaking Down Doors

**Summary: **Sequel to "Closing Doors." Sam's getting used to his life on the road with Dean, finishing up some old hunts and getting to know his brother. But when a familiar face from a certain incident in 1989 returns with an offer that Sam can't refuse, everything changes. How much is a normal life worth if it means that Dean's worst fear comes true?

**Discalimer: **I don't own Supernatural. It belongs to the CW now, I think.

* * *

**Breaking Down Doors**

Richardson, Texas

June 10, 1992

"Why can't we just salt and burn the bones like we did in the asylum?" nine-year-old Sam Winchester asked as he walked the perimeter of the creaky old house's kitchen, spreading a thin trail of gasoline behind him.

"Because it's not a ghost," his father answered.

"Then what is it?"

"It's kind of a thought-form," Dean Swanson answered, tossing his gas can into the far corner of the room and taking a look around the Hell House, "it just hasn't been created yet."

"But it will, right?"

"Right, thanks to the power of the internet. I swear, if it weren't for iTunes and Google there'd be nothing worthwhile on the web."

"Really?" his oldest son asked, walking out of one of the adjoining rooms, "are you sure there's nothing else?"

The man smirked, taking a box of matches out of his pocket and backing toward the door. "Well," he conceded, "there may be something, but I can't mention it in front of your brother."

The boy nodded. "Thought so. Come on, Sammy, let's get out of this Hell Hole."

"It's Hell _House_," their father corrected, striking a match as soon as his sons were out the door, "and watch the language, Dean."

The match fell to the floor, igniting the thin lines of gasoline and effectively burning the house as the broken family watched. One less problem to worry about in the future, one less ghost to bust.

Richardson, Texas

16 Years later

Sam Winchester tried to roll over, but it was kind of hard to change positions in a car. Instead of fighting the wakefulness that washed over him, the young man grudgingly opened his eyes and gazed at the passing scenery as some country artist twanged about how every mile was a memory. For Sam, that was pretty much the truth.

"Another memory, Kyle?" Dean asked from the driver's seat, barely glancing over at his younger brother.

Sammy blinked, scowling at his brother. "You realize you're the only person who watches that show, right?" That show, 'Kyle XY,' being about a young man with amnesia who'd suddenly began recovering memories in a manner very similar to Sam's.

"ABC Family disagrees with you, Sammy," Dean smirked, "no other reason to bring it back for a couple more seasons, unless they're like that CW network and just can't win with anything."

"What are you talking about?" Sam asked, still half-asleep.

"You mean to tell me you haven't been following the breaking CW story? Even Superman's ratings are taking a nose-dive, and I'm really starting to feel for those poor Gilmores. Not to mention the pair of monster hunters who got hit by that semi."

Sam straightened in his seat. Times had changed, literally, and he hadn't exactly been up on all of the newest TV programs. Apparently, though, Dean was. The elder caught his brother's sudden rigid stance and began laughing.

"Relax, Sammy, they haven't made a show about you and dad. How boring would that be?"

Sam sighed, leaning back in the seat. Yeah, times certainly _had_ changed. And it was all his fault. If he hadn't wanted so badly to get that normal life, if he hadn't pressured his then-brother to go after their possessed father….

But that was behind them, _way_ behind them. All the way back in 1989, when the brother Sam had known had decided to stay behind and finally grant his deepest wish, giving him a normal existence. But it had all come at a terrible price. He'd lost his wife, his daughter, his sister-in-law, and his niece and nephew before finally killing the demon that had ripped his family apart.

He glanced nonchalantly at his brother, who was silently singing along with the radio, tapping his thumbs on the wheel. He was only sitting in the old Impala, speeding towards who knew what ghost in who knew what town, because of the older man. His brother had changed drastically over the years, and that had been Sam's fault, too.

However, sometimes change can be a good thing, and, slowly, Sam was settling into his new life with his new brother. More and more memories bubbled to the surface each day, and the hunter was starting to believe it when people told him he'd had a good life. As far as he could tell, his recollection of childhood was almost complete.

And he had Dean, who had helped fill in a few blanks from time to time. Dean, who was busy trying to grow his hair out again. Dean, who liked country music and earned a large chunk of money every time he could find a decent karaoke contest that would have him. Dean, who was finally showing his true colors.

"So," the driver began as the song on the radio ended, "tell me again about this ghost."

"It's really not a ghost," Sam explained, "it's a tulpa. A thought-form. I found it while surfing the web the other night, right where it was last time I went up against it. Someone must have snuck in and decided to prank a few of their friends. Probably the same guy as before."

Dean nodded, remembering the famous 1992 road trip that had taken the family through Richardson and to the Hell House. "So we're dealing with Mordecai?"

"Yeah. He's back, thanks to a few thrill-seeking high schoolers and our net-savvy friends."

"We burnt the house down, though. How can the legend still exist if there isn't a house?"

Sam shook his head. "We didn't burn the cellar."

"Oh, the cellar, of course," Dean gushed sarcastically, "how could we have been so stupid as to overlook the _cellar_?"

Sam laughed. "It should be pretty easy, though, compared to the shifter and the vampires, that is. Just find a way to destroy the cellar."

"_Sounds_ easy, but is it ever?"

* * *

Well, that's chapter one. What do you think? Anxious for more? You know that reviews keep me writing! 


	2. Chapter 2

Yay! Longer post. Even better, people reviewed! Yay, people! So, what are the brothers going to do about Mordecai? I guess you'll jsut ahve to read on to see!

* * *

The floor of the house was still where it had been, just a little worse for wear, if that was possible. It covered up the cellar, where two people had already died, so the brothers had absolutely no idea of what they were walking into. Oddly enough, that was just how they liked it. It supplied a much-needed adrenalin rush after five hours in the car.

The cellar doors, set into a little hill that had once been adjacent to the house, swung open with a squeal, undoubtedly alerting Mordecai to their presence. Slowly, Sam and Dean descended the stairs into the darkened room, the thick smell of mold and decay meeting their nostrils as soon as they were fully submerged in the black cellar.

Dean pulled a small flashlight out of his pocket and flipped it on, scanning the room for the pesky ghoul. "So," he hissed as Sam pulled out his own flashlight, "any bright ideas? How are we gonna keep people out of here?"

Sam was about to answer as footsteps banged across the old house's floor above them. Both brothers looked up, following the sound with their eyes. The steps crossed the floor from one end of the house to the other before stopping at the cellar doors.

Slowly, the doors creaked open, throwing a large beam of light into the room. Silhouetted in the glow from above were two men, each carrying something in their hands.

"Mordecai have any friends?" Dean whispered as he and Sam backed away from the light and into a corner as the shadows moved into the room.

"Not that I know of," Sam replied as the two figures stepped into view. Even in the darkness, there was a familiarity about them, something Sam couldn't quite place, even though he was wracking his brain.

Finally, one of the intruders spoke. "We're broadcasting live from Mordecai Murdoch's cellar of horror," the man began in a slightly trembling voice, "the first to bring you the story, and the first to officially investigate the haunting."

"No way," Sam muttered, watching the two men move clumsily around the cellar.

"What?" Dean asked, "you know them?"

Sam didn't bother answering, just stood up in the old cellar and slowly approached the Hell Hounds, who were busily conducting some sort of experiment that probably didn't even work.

"Hey, there," he said cheerily, clapping one of them on the back, "whatcha doing?"

Both men jumped, turning to face him. As far as they'd known, they were the only ones stupid enough to break into a crime scene. "We're-" one of them stuttered before Sam cut him off.

"You're conducting a scientific experiment," he nodded as Dean came slowly out of the shadows behind him, "you're trying to find Mordecai."

"That's right. I'm-"

"Ed Zeddmore," Sam answered, smiling, "and he's Harry Spangler. You run the Hell Hounds site, right? You guys made the legend worldwide."

"How'd you know all of that?" Ed asked suspiciously, eyeing Sam with mistrust.

Sammy shrugged. "I'm psychic."

Dean's eyes went wide with shock, as did the Hell Hounds'. "Really?" Harry asked as Dean's elbow connected sharply with Sam's ribs.

"Really. And I had a vision this morning. I knew I'd be meeting you. I have to tell you, though, guys, this is dangerous. You can't keep writing about this ghost on your site. More and more people are gonna flock to this cellar, and most of them are going to die. Do you really want that on your consciences?"

The two 'professionals' seemed to think about what Sam had said as Dean finally caught on. "You should listen to him," the elder offered, "these visions and vibes he gets are always right. Just shut down your site for good, and no one else has to get hurt."

Ed and Harry looked at each other, their eyes still wide, as they contemplated. "One condition," Ed finally said, stepping forward, "we want an interview. We were thinking about starting up a _new_ website, all about parapsychology and psychic abilities, and we'd love an interview with a real psychic."

The brothers glanced at each other before Dean took the other man's hand, and, shaking it, agreed. "One problem, though," he said sadly, "we're pulling out of town tonight, so could we make it a phone interview?"

"I suppose that would work."

"Great," Dean smiled, taking a pen and a crumpled gum wrapper out of his pocket and jotting down a number, "just call whenever you want to talk and we'll get that interview done, OK? Now, you guys should probably run along before the ghost decides to crash our party and kill your psychic, huh?"

The Hell Hounds let themselves be pushed up and out of the cellar, leaving the Winchesters alone in the darkness.

"You really gave them my number?" Sam asked as soon as they were out of ear-shot.

"Of course not, Sammy, I'm smarter than that. I gave them Missouri's. Let _her_ deal with them."

* * *

He should have known better than to trust Dean, should have realized that things would play out just as they had before, that nothing had really changed. Still, Sam had to smile as he looked over the motif of their latest motel room. Very desert-y.

"I'm picking the motel next time, dude," Sam sighed, flopping down on the bed farthest from the door. He'd tried once, in those early weeks out on the road, to take the other bed, but Dean had stopped him. Dean had always stopped him before, but Sam had figured maybe that had changed, too. The only thing that had changed was the explanation. He wasn't allowed to sleep near the door because something could come in and attack him, not because his brother was lazy.

Dean didn't pay attention to his little brother's griping, though, he was too busy listening to the many missed messages on his voicemail. Sam watched his brother go suddenly ghost white, gripping the phone tighter than he should have.

"What is it?" the younger man asked, "Missouri get a call from two annoying ghost hunters?"

Dean didn't answer, just shoved his phone back into his pocket and grabbed the duffel bag, heading for the door and motioning for Sam to follow.

"What is it?" Sammy asked again, grabbing the few belongings he had left and following his brother to the car, "where are we going?"

Dean looked at him, eyes shocked. "Manning. Something's happening there. It's _definitely_ our kind of thing."

"What are you talking about?" Sam shouted, but his brother didn't hear. He'd already climbed into the car and started the engine.

* * *

Ooh... mystery, intrigue, and possible conflict! What's next?


	3. Chapter 3

Sorry it's taken me so long to update, guys. Our cable modem broke, so I couldn't go online. I'm here now, though, with another chapter, so hold onto your shorts!

* * *

"Recognize anyone?" Dean asked as the brothers sat inside a small café in Manning, Colorado.

"I just want you to tell me what's going on," Sam said, gazing around the tiny shop.

"Jake," Dean hissed.

"What?"

"_Jake_. You know, the time-hopping demon that tried to kill us in Topeka. One of dad's contacts from this area called and said she thought she'd seen him hanging around the café."

"That makes sense," Sam reasoned, "dad and I sent him back through the wormhole after exorcising him."

"Yeah, but this contact also said that there had been some weird fluctuations around here lately. _Time-warp_ sort of things. And I got to thinking, we didn't actually kill the demon back in '89, which means its still out there, just waiting for us, and…" he trailed off, staring over Sam's shoulder at something at the other end of the café.

Sam turned in time to see a short man with bright blue eyes and brown hair making his way purposefully across the café towards them. He recognized the man instantly as the evil demon that had tried multiple times to off them as kids. "That's him," he nodded as the man's eyes suddenly turned black.

"Time to go," Dean muttered, grabbing Sam's wrist and pulling him out through the café's back door. They reached the Impala and slid into the metal hulk of the car, locking the doors and ensuring their safety from the demonic menace until they could figure out a good way to get him off their backs.

Something banged onto the roof of the car, shocking both brothers. Dean started the engine, but too late, as Jake slid off the roof and onto the hood, smiling at them as his dark eyes surveyed his prey.

He slammed a fist suddenly through the windshield, spraying the car's occupants with chunks of broken glass before grabbing them and pulling them out. "Been looking for you," he hissed as he tossed the Winchesters through the air, smiling as their heads connected with the concrete.

* * *

"I've been meaning to talk to you, Sammy," the demon cooed, rousing his captive from the darkness of unconsciousness, "I've got a proposition."

Sam opened his eyes and looked around. He seemed to be in some sort of warehouse, tied to a chair in the middle of the room. Dean was tied up beside him, and had obviously been awake longer. He was looking at the demon with a mixture of hatred and disgust.

"What do you want?" Sam moaned, staring into the black pits of the demon's eyes as a headache began to thud its way across his forehead.

"I want to make you an offer, Sam, one that I doubt you'll refuse. I know now that I made a mistake by trying to kill you and your brother, and now the balance of the world has been thrown off. I want to fix that, and I want to give you a chance to help me."

"Why would I do that?"

"Because I can give you what you've always wanted. Your brother stayed behind to raise you, ensuring the normalcy you've always craved, but he also ruined your life, in a way. Your wife and daughter are dead now because of him."

"They would have died no matter what," Dean pointed out, "they were supposed to."

"Yes, but maybe if they'd had the proper protection that whole messy incident could have been avoided. That's where my offer comes in. I've opened up another wormhole, leading back 19 years. You can change things, Sam, make them just how you want them to be. All you need to do is convince your brother to come back here with you, leave the kids behind, and I can guarantee that Jess and Ava live. You'll have your perfect life."

"You'd help me?" Sam asked, "why?"

"Because I believe that everyone deserves a chance to have what they truly want. If you get rid of your 'father,' you'll be able to have a truly normal childhood, with no demon hunting at all. I'll make sure that you and Jessica have the life you've always deserved."

"What'll happen to me?" Dean asked.

Jake turned to him, smiling. "Whatever happens, happens," he shrugged, "Sam's the one who's been cheated out of a normal life. It's up to him to decide."

"What if he says no?"

Jake's smile faltered a little. "It's his choice," he said, walking behind the brothers and untying them, "the wormhole's located in the trunk of the marked pine just behind Daniel Elkins' old cabin. It'll close in time, I'm sure, but until then, the choice is yours."

The demon stalked quietly from the warehouse, smiling, as Sam and Dean watched.

"That was pointless," Dean muttered, staring at his brother from the corners of his eyes, "I mean, really, it didn't even try to kill us or anything."

Sam just nodded, wandering slowly from the warehouse and considering what Jake had said. Was it still possible for him to have a normal life? Or was it just a trap set up by a demon to lure him into another time and slay him without worry? If that was the case, though, why had it only invited him, and not Dean? Why not kill them both if it had a chance? Maybe things really _had_ changed, and maybe Jake was suddenly on Sam's side.

* * *

Dean had been more than reluctant to fall asleep that night, and he hadn't been afraid to tell his brother why. Sam had been eerily quiet since they had left the warehouse to find the Impala with a new windshield and note of apology from the demon. Silence meant Sam was thinking, and thinking meant Sam was considering.

It had taken some convincing to get Dean to lay down and close his eyes, taken every reassurance Sam could think up to finally get his brother to believe that two people would be in the motel room the next morning, and the morning after that, and the morning after that…

But Sam wasn't so sure. As much as he appreciated what Dean had done for him, he couldn't stand thinking about living the rest of his life traveling the country and hunting. He wanted to settle down, get his own life. But he knew his brother would never let him.

So, he watched Dean sleep, jumping each time the older man mumbled something about family and being alone, and he thought. He considered. He planned. He hated to do it, but he had to know, had to see if Jake had been telling the truth.

Besides, if it didn't work out he could always just hop back in time again and change things back, no sweat. Dean would never even know he had left.

Silently, Sammy grabbed the keys from the dresser and walked out of the room. The Impala's wheel felt good in his hands, and he realized that he was finally in control of his destiny. It would be perfect.

He started the car, and drove out to Daniel Elkins' place, knowing that Jake couldn't have been lying, not with all of the evidence that their father's contact had told them about. It was his chance to make things right, to see what could have been.

Finding the correct pine wasn't as much of a problem as he'd thought it would be. All he'd had to do was toss a few rocks and listen for the one that didn't thunk against a trunk. With a deep breath, Sam stepped into the tree trunk.

The blast of cool air, the uncomfortable twist of his stomach, that was all the proof he needed to know that it had worked, that he was heading back in time.

Sam landed hard on the ground, hitting his tailbone painfully against a pinecone that lay on the dusty ground. He stood up, rubbing his butt, and gazed at his surroundings. It had definitely worked. The sun sat high in the sky, smiling down on his second- no, third- chance. If he could just find his brother…

"Sam?"

Sammy turned, startled, to see Dean standing behind him, holding an antique Colt in his hands and frowning.

"Yeah," Sam nodded, "it's me."

"What're you doing here? I thought you went back. Did something happen?"

"A lot happened, actually. You died. Jess and Cassie, and your kids and mine, they all died. We didn't kill the demon, Dean. And the whole world just shifted, everyone you went back and saved, they died, and now I'm stuck right back where I started, and I really don't want to be there."

"Um, ok," Dean said, scratching his head, "what now?"

"I came back to make things right. You need to come with me, before you mess anything else up."

"Oh, come on, Sammy, is it really that bad?"

"It's bad for me. I'm still hunting."

Dean sighed, stuffing the gun into his pocket and avoiding his brother's gaze. "Am, uh, am I happy?"

"Ecstatic," Sam replied flatly.

"Then why change things?"

"Because I want to have my life, Dean, I deserve that much!"

"I'm not going back with you, man. I dropped the kids off at camp, and I've gotta go back and get them soon, so, just forget it. I'm not abandoning them."

"You won't have a choice," a cool voice said as a dark figure stepped out from the thick line of pines. Jake leveled a gun at Dean's chest and pulled the trigger, hitting the man in the heart.

"No!" Sam shouted, running to his brother's side as he realized that he'd been tricked.

Dean looked weakly up at him, eyes growing hazy as his body shut down. "Sacramento," he whispered, "Camp Witkit. Go get them…take them home…raise them right…" His head fell to the side as his breathing ceased.

Sam turned to glare at Jake, but found that the demon had disappeared. Suddenly, a twig snapped behind him, and something large and heavy hit the back of Sam's head hard enough to knock him unconscious.

* * *

Ooh... now that's gonna change things, isn't it?


	4. Chapter 4

OK, well, I'm back, and I ahve another chapter for you. Time to see what Sam's gotten himself into this time!

* * *

Wherever he was, it was warm and cozy and felt just like the home he hadn't had since that damned demon had taken his wife. Slowly, his head still aching, Sam opened his eyes and gazed at his surroundings. He recognized the room he was in, recognized the couch he was laying on, even remembered the blanket that had been wrapped around his long body.

He really was home.

To his right, a door opened and a pretty blonde walked in, her beautiful face marred by deep lines of concern. "You're up," she said, relieved, as she met Sam's eyes.

"Jess," he muttered, smiling at the woman he'd lost more times than he could count, "what happened?"

"You were walking home and you fell down, I guess," she replied, sitting by his feet on the couch, "this nice man- I think his name was Jake- brought you home."

"Jake?" Sam shouted, sitting up suddenly and moaning as a wave of dizziness washed over him, blurring the living room in his Sacramento home, "where'd he go?"

"He didn't say," Jessica shrugged, placing a small hand on Sam's chest and pushing him back down, "but you need to rest. You really knocked your noggin, there, Sammy."

"Where's Dean?"

"Who?"

"Dean. About six foot, brown hair, hazel eyes, really annoying smirk. Wise-ass attitude. Come on, Jess, I know you've met him."

Jess shook her head. "I can't say that I have. Who is he?"

"He's my brother. You've met him, there's no way you haven't."

"Oh," she exclaimed, suddenly understanding, "your brother. No, I've never met him, but I do remember you telling me about him."

"Well, what happened to him?"

Jessica sighed, the slight smile that always graced her lips fading as she tried to remember the story she'd been told about her husband's family. "When your dead-beat uncle left you at that camp and never came back, Child Services took you and your brother. Since your biological dad had been a little loopy, they tested both of you. You passed, Dean didn't. Or, at least, that's what you told me."

"So, they thought he was unstable?"

Jess nodded. "You were adopted within a year. The Richardsons took you in, loved you more than anyone else ever could have. Dean was put in therapy, but, if I remember right, he ran away when he was twelve. They caught him about a year later. I think they had him institutionalized."

"Where is he?" Sam demanded, sitting up again despite the sickening spinning in his head. His heart suddenly felt as if it weighed twice as much as it had when he'd woken up. If what she was telling him was true, then Dean had been right, had had a good, valid reason to stay behind and take care of the kids.

His wife shrugged, trying again to push him back down. "I think they let him out about five years ago. Clean bill of health. They sent us a letter, saying we could pick him up if we wanted to let him stay with us. You never replied. I guess you never really got to know the guy well enough to let him into our home. Last I heard, he'd gotten an apartment up in Connecticut."

"Do you have the address?"

"Somewhere, yeah. Sam, what's with this sudden interest in your biological family?"

Sam stood up, head spinning again, and moved off toward the bedroom to pack a suitcase. "I need to find him, Jess. I love you, I really do, but I need to make things right."

"Sam, you hit your head. You need to rest. You're talking like a crazy person."

Sam spun on his heels to face his wife, remembering suddenly just how much he'd missed her. "No, Jess. _He's_ the crazy person. And it's all my fault."

* * *

Well, at least he's finally taking responsibility, right? Bet you can't WAIT to see where this goes now, huh? 


	5. Chapter 5

All right, guys, longer chapters from now on, I promise, and trust me, this story's gonna get better! Thanks again to all of my faithful reviewers. I honestly don't know what I'd do without you guys!

* * *

In all honesty, Sam had stayed in motel rooms that were cleaner than the apartment building he currently found himself in. It wasn't that he blamed his estranged brother for finding the crappiest building possible and settling in. After all, that was how they'd wound up in most of those fleabag motels. But, crummy as the motels had been, they'd never been _permanent._

So, Sam stood in front of the door of room 205 in the Palm Fern Apartment Complex in some nameless town in Connecticut, unsure of whether or not he really wanted to take the plunge and knock. Maybe things really were better like this, with a demon protecting his wife and his crazy brother finally off on his own.

Or maybe they were worse. Not for him, mind you, but for Dean, who'd never really done anything wrong. At least, Sam figured he owed it to his brother to see what kind of life the older man had found himself in since their dear father's sudden disappearance so many years before. Raising his hand, he knocked.

"I don't want any," Dean's hoarse voice announced from the other side.

"Um, it's me," Sam called through the door.

"Who's me?"

Sammy sighed, realizing suddenly that his brother didn't know him, probably didn't even remember him. "Sam. Sam Winchester."

Before he'd even gotten the last syllable out, the door in front of him flew open, revealing a man in his late twenties with unkempt hair and wide, untrusting eyes. Those eyes looked him up and down as Sam took a quick look at his brother. All of Dean's clothes were ripped in various places, worn through to reveal patches of pale skin, and there were dark circles under his eyes.

"What are you doing here?" he asked quietly, his voice raspy with lack of use, "why now?"

"I need your help," Sam replied earnestly, noticing his brother's dark eyes light up as he spoke, "can I come in?"

"Of course," Dean mumbled, stepping aside so his long-lost brother could walk past. He closed the old door behind them, shoving his hands into the pockets of torn-up jeans and smiling slightly as the younger man looked around.

The apartment looked worse inside than it had out. An old pizza box, now home to a family of roaches, sat abandoned in one corner, and old beer cans littered the floor. The furniture was old, the upholstery ripped and faded with age, and mostly covered with piles of old clothes that someone had been too careless to throw in a hamper or wash.

"This is nice," Sam said slowly, noticing a layer of dust on every desktop as he continued to survey the run-down room.

"If I'd known you were stopping by," Dean defended, "I would have tidied up a bit."

"Yeah, I would have called, but I couldn't find your number."

"Don't have one. As you can probably tell, I'm barely paying for the leaky roof over my head. Nothing left over for phone or internet. So, what brings you all the way from Sacramento?"

Sam turned to look at his brother, who was in desperate need of a shower and shave, wondering how the older man had known he'd been living in Sacramento. The way Jess had talked, the brothers hadn't spoken in years. "Like I said, I need your help."

"If it's a loan you're looking for, man, I hate to break it to you-"

"It's a demon. _The_ demon."

Dean smiled weakly. "You know that was a bunch of crap, right? Dad was nuts, and he made _us_ nuts, too. There's no such thing as demons, he just made it all up."

"How do you explain everything that happened to us, then?" Sam asked, "you can't just dismiss it as a fantasy."

"It _was_ a fantasy, though. I bought into it, and you didn't. That's why we got separated, Sam. They helped me, though, they told me what was real and what wasn't. They really straightened out my head. I've been fine on my own for five years here. No demons. So, why don't you go back to your wife and daughter and just leave things the way they were meant to be."

Sam sighed, noting the fact that Dean knew he had a wife and daughter, and tried to make himself remember to bring it up later. Now, though, he had to do something he'd never imagined. He had to convince his brother that evil was out there.

"Listen," he began, "I know things were bad for you, but they weren't supposed to be this way. Where I come from… man, I don't even know where I come from anymore. I guess I remember more than I'm supposed to. Where I come from, we were raised to hunt demons, and we grew up doing just that. I left for college, and you kept hunting. Eventually, we found a wormhole and chased a demon into it. You stayed in 1989 and I went back.

"Life was good, I guess. I remember all of it now, and I was happy, So were you. Dad wasn't supposed to die, Dean, he-"

"He's _dead_?" Dean asked suddenly, stepping forward hesitantly.

"Yeah. I, uh, I went back to try and see if I could make things even better than they were, and the demon, Jake, just came out of nowhere and shot him. He knocked me out and brought me here."

"He's really dead, though?"

Sam nodded. "He is. Why, did you think he just left us or something?"

"Why wouldn't he? Everyone else did. But why would Jake shoot him? Why not just come after us as kids?"

Sammy sighed, shoving his hands into his pockets and avoiding his brother's deeply hurt eyes. "Because I let him. I was supposed to distract dad, I guess. I tried to make my life better, and wound up making everything worse. I think Jake was after the Colt. I mean, that's the only logical explanation, right? We used that gun to kill the demon, and now we can't. We need to get it back, Dean, and I need your help."

Dean just stared at him, not even blinking. "He didn't leave us?"

"No, he was murdered, and we can avenge that now. What do you say?"

"What do we do after we get the gun? We have to kill him now, right?"

Sam shook his head. "We're not going after him now. We're going to go after him _then._ Right after he got it. We'll head back to '89 and track him down from there. Chances are, he'll pass the gun off to the demon then and come back here after. Make sense?"

"Not really. What'll we do after we change the past again, though? We just head back here and hope everything works out? Could we stay with the kids and keep them together? I think they'd like that."

"It's gonna depend," Sam sighed, "it's all going to depend on what happens. Now, you with me?"

Dean nodded slowly. "Where's the wormhole?"

"Manning, Colorado."

"Didn't you pass through Colorado on your way here? Why didn't you just fix things yourself?"

Sam shrugged. The truth was, he'd wanted to see just what had become of his brother, to see the kind of damage he had caused and figure out if trying to change things back was really worth it. If Dean had been happy, he wouldn't have bothered with Jake. Obviously, though, happiness and Dean hadn't seen much of each other in the older man's lifetime, so sticking with his _new_ new life didn't seem like much of a choice. "I told you already, I need your help. So?"

Dean smiled. "Let me pack up and get ready. Make yourself at home, just don't sit down. Not sure how much more the chairs and the things living in them can take." He turned on his heels and walked happily from the room, whistling some old song under his breath as he went.

Sam grinned as he watched his brother head into what he assumed was a bedroom, then into the bathroom for that much needed shower. As far as he could tell, Dean was the farthest thing from crazy. Maybe a little dirty and down in the dumps, but certainly not crazy.

* * *

Well, there's your update and your new new Dean. Any opinions? 


	6. Chapter 6

Well, here's another long chapter!

* * *

Sam had been surprised to find that Dean was willing to let him drive out of Connecticut and all the way into Pennsylvania, where they finally stopped and got a motel room. For the first time in almost a year, Sam found his own name on the credit card in his billfold, and he couldn't have been happier. In fact, he considered just abandoning the hunt and going back to the family he'd worked so hard for.

But then his eyes fell on Dean, who was standing at the other corner of the motel lobby, watching him as inconspicuously as possible, pale hands in the pockets of his old jeans. No, he couldn't leave, not after everything his brother had obviously been through. He at least owed it to the man to try and help him.

"Room 7," he announced happily, walking back across the lobby and smiling at his older brother, who cautiously returned the gesture.

"Great," Dean nodded, "hey, I was just wondering, how are we supposed to track this thing down and try to get the gun back if we don't have any weapons?"

Sammy grinned. "Oh, I have a plan. We'll be passing through Lincoln on our way to Manning, and I figured we could stop off at Caleb's place and stock up. Maybe we could swing by Lawrence, too, and see Missouri."

Dean stopped in his tracks, suddenly stiff as a board. A small choking sound escaped his throat.

"What is it?" Sam asked, concerned.

"Missouri Mosley died five years ago, Sammy. Someone broke into her house and stabbed her to death. They cut her up good. Eleven wounds, all near vital organs. Some even hit home. The, uh, coroner said she suffered a lot, though. An awful lot."

"You read the coroner's report?"

"Yeah. When I heard about what had happened, I just thought, you know, maybe it was something supernatural," Dean shrugged, "turns out it was probably just a burglar." He sighed, walking to the room and standing beside the door, waiting for Sam to catch up.

Sammy didn't follow his brother, though, at least not right away. He was too busy thinking. That morning, Dean had denied the existence of the supernatural, told Sam that he'd been crazy to believe in witches and demons and such. Now, however, he had said that only five years before he had performed an investigation. Something didn't add up.

"You coming?" Dean asked, a little nervously, as he watched Sam stand in the middle of the sidewalk and try to collect his thoughts.

"Sure," Sam muttered, digging through his pocket for his car keys, "hey, why don't you go pull the car around, huh? Just put it in front of the room so we'll be able to leave a little more easily, OK?"

Dean nodded, reaching out hand to take the keys. "Just promise you'll be in the room when I get back."

Sam grinned. "Sure thing, man."

"I'm serious, Sam."

"So am I."

* * *

The motel room was better than most of those that Sam had stayed in in the past, and definitely classier than Dean's apartment. No sooner had the young hunter stepped through the door and plopped down on the first bed he saw, than his phone rang. Groaning loudly, he dug around in his pocket and pulled it out, answering it. "Hello?"

"Sam?"

"Jessica? Hey. What're you doing calling?"

"Sammy," she sighed, "I talked to Agent Hamsfeld about an hour after you left. Remember? She was the one in charge of your brother's care at the institution. She's the one who asked if we wanted to bring him home with us?"

"Oh, sure, yeah," Sam replied, trying to cover up for his lack of memories, "her. What did you talk to her about?"

"Dean. I asked her about the kinds of things he'd done and the things he could do. Sam, you need to get out of there. Right now. Just get as far away from him as you can."

"Jessica," Sam snorted, "come on, this is a lame joke."

"It's not a joke, Sammy. She told me that when he ran away, he went missing for a year before he turned up again. They found him about a mile away from your parents' house. They were the ones that called the police. He'd broken in late in the night, and asked if he could stay with them. When they said he couldn't, he tried to kidnap you. He got you pretty far before they took him back into custody, Sam."

"How old was he?" Sam asked, sitting slowly up on the lumpy bed and running a hand through his long hair.

"Thirteen. After that, they realized that he couldn't be helped by just sitting down and talking. Sam, Agent Hamsfeld told me some of the things they did to him. Experimental drugs, electroshock, and he finally started to get better."

"Well if he's better," Sammy said shakily, glancing nervously out the window as the lights of midsize SUV shone brightly in the lot, "there's nothing to worry about."

"Sammy, she said he could have a relapse. She thinks he's dangerous, and so do I. Please, honey, just come home."

"I can't. I can't just leave him again, Jess. He won't hurt me. Trust me. Now, I've gotta go, he's coming back. I love you, bye." He hung up the phone just as the door opened and Dean walked in.

"Wow," the elder Winchester exclaimed, gazing around the room, "this place is nice. What color do you think the water is?"

Sam laughed. "Probably clear." He looked at his brother, skinny and pale, clad in tatters and rags, and saw that he hadn't been joking. "What color was your water in Connecticut?"

Dean glanced briefly at him, shrugging as he crossed the room to flop down on the bed farthest from the door, something he never usually did. "It was a rainbow, man, honestly." He closed his eyes, sighing deeply, and was soon snoring softly.

Sam shook his head. _Experimental drugs? Electroshock?_ Could that really be true? Could Dean have tried to kidnap him? Could he have been keeping tabs on the whole family, secretly stalking the only relative he had left? And what about Missouri? Something about her murder didn't sit well with Sam, though he had no idea why.

Sighing, the younger man slid back down on the bed, rolling onto his side and closing his eyes. He knew one thing for sure, and that was that his brother needed him, now more than ever. This time, Sammy was gonna come through.

* * *

Oh, see, now, all of you people who got mad (and possibly stopped reviewing) becuase you thought I made Sam a jerk were wrong. He's still nice, it just takes him a while to show it :) 


	7. Chapter 7

Heehee... is it just me, or do I like messing with Dean just a bit too much? Oh, well, here's chapter 7 for ya!

* * *

He was comfortable, warm, and loved. Naturally, when he heard the door to his bedroom creak open, nine-year-old Sam Winchester didn't even bother opening his eyes. It was probably just his parents coming to check up on him.

_Parents,_ now that was an interesting term. Sammy couldn't remember ever having two parents before he'd been adopted. Mostly, it had just been him and his brother in a motel room for weeks at a time. It was a good feeling, finally having someone to come home to, being able to go to school and have friends.

Every once in a while he'd wonder about Dean, about what had happened after Dan and Elizabeth, who were now 'mom' and 'dad,' had taken him to their home in Michigan. He never wondered long, though. He may have been adopted first, but he was certain that Dean had found a family of his own.

That's why it was so shocking when his brother's wavering voice called out through the darkness. Sam shot straight up in bed, looking at what could only have been a ghost.

Dean was standing in front of the open door, his hair long and shaggy, skin pale, dark circles standing out beneath his haunted eyes. He was dressed in white pajamas, and had some sort of green bracelet clinging weakly to his skinny wrist.

"Dean?" Sammy asked, squinting through the darkness of early morning.

The older boy nodded, a smile creeping slowly onto his chapped lips. "Yeah, Sammy," he whispered, his voice cracking, "it's me."

"What are you doing here?"

Dean threw a quick glance over his shoulder and closed the bedroom door. "I'm sorry, kiddo, I really am, but we have to leave. Now."

"All right. I'll tell mom and dad."

The teenager flinched. "Uh, they're not coming, Sam, and they can't know that we're leaving."

Sammy narrowed his eyes. "Why not?"

"I don't want anything bad to happen to them. Come on." Dean walked over to the bed, shuffling over the hardwood floor in his bare feet, and held out his hand. Tentatively, Sam took it.

"Where are we going?"

Dean shrugged, shoving open the window and looking out at the spacious backyard. Fortunately, there was a large tree within jumping distance. "Dunno. Probably Blue Earth. Jim might be willing to take us in." He nodded out toward the tree, "you go first."

Sam hung back. "We're running away?"

"No, no," Dean grinned, pushing his little brother toward the open window, "we're just gonna try something new, kind of an experiment. If it doesn't work, we'll come back."

Hesitantly, Sam wriggled out through the window until he was sitting on the outer sill. From there, he braced himself and jumped into the tree, grasping the branches and holding on for dear life. Dean followed.

"What now?' Sammy asked, watching the wheels in his brother's head turn as the older boy assessed the situation.

"We climb down. Go slow and be careful."

Sam nodded, getting a good grip on the trunk before shimmying down the side of the tree. He looked up at his brother, who was following closely, and then back at his house, where his parents were probably still asleep. He'd been safe there. He'd been loved.

Suddenly, the young boy lost his hold and went sliding down the trunk of the tree. He hit the ground hard, crying out in pain as he felt his ankle twist at a sickening angle, threatening to break.

Dean was beside him in an instant, clapping a clammy hand over the nine-year-old's mouth. Sammy struggled, his ankle throbbing, as his brother pulled him away from his happy home and into the bushes, looking constantly at the house from which they'd come, something like panic and fear swimming in his dark eyes.

"I'm gonna let go of your mouth, now, Sammy, but you can't scream like that again, got it?" Dean asked, still dragging him farther and farther from the home he'd come to know and love. Sam nodded. "Good," Dean smiled, releasing his tight grip on his little brother's face, "now, can you walk?"

"I don't think so."

"No problem. I can carry you."

Sam looked his brother up and down. Though Dean seemed to have gone through a slight growth spurt since their last encounter, he also seemed to have lost quite a bit of weight, and, along with that, some valuable muscle mass. However, he was able to support his brother's weight as he piggy-backed Sam out of the bushes and onto the sidewalk.

It was slow going, and several times the brothers had to duck into a ditch or someone's backyard to avoid being spotted by a passing car. Finally, after what seemed like a day and a half to Sam, they settled down, ducking for cover behind some bushes in the local park.

"Dean," Sammy moaned, reaching out and gingerly rubbing at his sore ankle, "I want to go home. It hurts really bad, and my family can take me to a doctor. You, too, if you want. You look sick."

Dean just shook his head, paling slightly at the mention of a doctor. "No way. I can fix up your ankle, and I'm not sick. We'll be fine."

"Do you know how far Blue Earth is from here?"

"We can make it, Sammy, I'm sure of it. We can do anything together."

Sam sighed, finally starting to understand. "If you wanted to see me, why didn't you just ask your folks? I'm sure they would have brought you."

Dean hung his head, running a trembling hand through his shaggy mess of hair and sighing. "I don't have any folks, Sam. No one wanted me. Now, come on, we can't stay here long. They'll be looking for us."

"Us?" Sam asked, "why us? Wouldn't they just be looking for me? No one knows you're here."

"Actually, your… the people that took you in know. I asked them if I could stay here. With you."

Sammy grinned. "What'd they say?"

"They said no."

The smile on the young boy's face quickly faded. "You kidnapped me?"

His brother's head snapped up, eyes shining with uncried tears, face contorting in a mix of hopelessness and fear. "I'm just doing what it takes to keep my family together. I don't want to be alone anymore, Sammy." He dropped his voice to a whisper as a single tear slipped past his defenses, falling onto the cool grass and mixing with the early morning dew. "They locked me up. Solitary. Said I wasn't… said I was crazy. Unstable. Please, just come with me. Jim'll take good care of us."

"No," Sam said, trying to stand and wobbling on his good ankle, "no, I want to stay here. If they think you need help-"

"They said dad was crazy. They said time travel isn't possible, and demons don't exist, and people don't burn on ceilings. Sammy, _they're_ the crazy ones."

"Dean-"

"Please, just come with me. We can be a family again, kiddo, a real family."

"Dean, I have a family. They love me, and they'd do anything for me." He started to hobble away from the bush. This wasn't the way he wanted to remember his big brother, all scared and alone, begging for something he knew full well he'd never get. Sammy just wanted his old brother back, the one that read him stories and tucked him in and chased the monsters away.

"_I'd_ do anything for you. Sam, look." Dean caught up to him, holding out a faded old photograph of a happy family. John, Mary, Dean, and baby Sammy. The Winchesters. "_I'm_ your family."

Sam sighed, turning to face his brother and pushing the photo away. "No, Dean," he muttered sadly, "I want my _real_ family. I want the Richardsons." Turning on his good heel, Sam hobbled away, out of the park and out of his brother's life.

* * *

Sam jerked suddenly awake, his brother's young, scared face seeming to hover before him for a second in the darkness of the room. Slowly, the hunter's senses adjusted to the dim light of early morning and the various creaks and groans of the old motel.

Blinking, he looked around the room, realizing that his right arm had gone numb during the night, probably from being shoved up behind his head. When he tried to move it, however, he couldn't. He was handcuffed to the bed's elaborate headboard.

Tugging on his arm, which was beginning to prickle uncomfortably as he changed position and blood flow returned, Sam scanned the darkened room, searching desperately for an explanation. What he found was Dean sitting placidly on the room's other bed and staring at him.

"Dean," Sam breathed, relaxing a little as the restraints began cutting into his wrist, "what happened? Why am I cuffed to the bed?"

Dean hung his head, his face turning a light shade of red with embarrassment. "You weren't supposed to wake up," he muttered, "it's only four. I was gonna take 'em off soon."

"But why am I cuffed?"

The older man stood up, pulling a small key out of his jacket pocket and releasing Sam from the restraints. "I'm sorry, Sammy, but I had to make sure. I had to make sure you'd be here when I woke up."

Sam rubbed his sore wrist and glanced up at his brother, realizing in the wake of the dream- no, _memory_- just how damaged the elder was. He'd been through Hell and barely gotten back out. "You shouldn't worry about that stuff, man," he sighed, "I'm in this for the long haul this time. We're gonna take down this demon, once and for all, and we're gonna do it together."

Dean didn't look too convinced by his brother's words of kindness, but smiled weakly and nodded just the same. "Can't be too careful, though," he whispered, shoving the handcuffs into the tattered suitcase he'd brought along.

"By the way," Sam began, "where'd you get the cuffs?"

There was a pause as the wheels in Dean's head began spinning in overtime, obviously trying to come up with a logical explanation. Finally, he spun around to face the younger man. "Props from a Halloween costume from a few years back," he replied cheerily, "guess I put them in the suitcase and forgot about them."

Sam nodded slowly, not really believing the elder's story. "Cool. Just, uh, read me my rights or something next time, all right? Waking up cuffed to a bed isn't exactly a great way to start a morning."

"Sure thing," Dean grinned, "now, since we're both up, what do you say we hit the road?"

* * *

Uh oh. Dean's unstable and cuffed Sammy to the bed? Looks like we're in for one heck of a story, huh, guys? 


	8. Chapter 8

Ooh... you guys are in for a real treat! Long update (which is good, becuase I'm going to be volunteering at a local haunted house for the rest of the month and probably won't be able to update too often). So, get comfortable.

* * *

Zipping along back roads for the majority of the morning had gotten the Winchesters to the Ohio-Indiana border by noon. Sam pulled into the parking lot of a charming little diner, eager to put as much food as possible into his rumbling stomach.

While Dean went to the front counter to order their lunch, Sam slid into a back booth. He'd tried to tell his brother what he wanted to eat, but the elder wouldn't hear of it. He insisted that he knew, and when Sam had asked to hear what the order would be, Dean had gotten it exactly right. It was unnerving how much someone who hadn't seen him since they were kids knew about him.

As Sammy pondered this and all of the other things that had been brought to his attention about his 'new' brother, his phone began to ring. He reached into his pocket and pulled it out, checking the id. _Jess._

"Hello?"

"Oh, Sam," she sighed, "I thought I'd get your voicemail."

"Well, I'm here. Everything all right?"

"Fine, with _us_, anyway. How are you and your, uh, brother?"

Sam grinned. "Good, actually. We got an early start out of Pennsylvania, and-"

"Pennsylvania?" Jess asked. She sounded panicked.

"Yeah, we spent the night in some cheap motel in Ogallala. It's this little Podunk town. Why?"

"It's all over the news," she replied quietly, "Sam, a police officer in Ogallala was murdered late last night. She was found beaten to death by the side of the road."

"She got mugged?" Sam asked, dread forming a leaden weight in his stomach that pushed out all hunger pains.

"No. The people on the news said that she was beaten to a pulp, but her money, the gun, the mace… nothing was taken but her handcuffs."

Sammy's throat constricted painfully as the last word left his wife's mouth and traveled thousands of miles through the air to reach his ears. Was it possible? Had Dean killed her for the cuffs, or just stumbled across the body in the dead of night and taken them? Either way, he was involved.

"Jess," Sam muttered, his throat dry, as he saw Dean approaching from the front counter, "I've gotta go. I'll call you back." He hung up the phone, cutting off his connection with his only sane family.

Dean slid into the seat across the table from his younger brother. "Who was that?"

"Just Jess," Sam said, clearing his throat, "checking up on me."

Dean's eyes narrowed and Sammy could have sworn he saw something like subtle malice flash through the familiar hazel. Whatever it had been, it was gone fast. "Oh," Dean said flatly, "nice of her."

"Yeah. Nice."

* * *

"We'll be in Lincoln by tomorrow," Sam noted as he brushed his teeth in the motel room's small bathroom. In the main room, he could hear Dean rummaging through their luggage.

"Great, but are you sure Caleb will remember us? I mean, the last time we saw him I was nine. It's been a while."

"I guess," Sam said, spitting into the sink and staring at his reflection in the mirror. He looked fit and healthy and sane. Just as he always had. Nothing about him had changed, besides the fact that he still had his wife and daughter to go home to.

Wiping off his mouth, Sammy walked back into the main room, eager to get some sleep and put the day behind him. So, his brother had some problems, and had maybe killed a person. Anyone else would have run after finding that a long-lost relative was capable of murder, but Sam was positive that Dean wouldn't hurt him. Things were bad, but they couldn't possibly get any worse.

That was when he saw the handcuffs, taken from their place in his older brother's suitcase. Sam sighed, looking over his sibling, who seemed almost nervous about something. Slowly, he gave Dean his hand, and the elder slapped the cuffs on. It was only a matter of time before Sam was fastened to the bed.

"Just to be safe," Dean muttered apologetically as he climbed into his bed.

"I can't blame you, man," Sam replied quietly as his brother reached over and turned off the single lamp that sat on the bedside table, "I haven't exactly been the best brother in the world lately."

"Are you kidding? I never would have expected you to turn up on my doorstep. I mean-"

"It took me, what, seventeen years to do that, Dean. I'm sorry."

"Don't be. Nothing that happened was your fault."

Sam closed his eyes in the darkness. "What exactly happened? To you, I mean. Because I have no idea, and I think I should know."

"It's not important. Ancient history."

"But it is important. I had a dream last night, Dean. It wasn't like other dreams, though, it was a memory. I guess it's just my little way of catching up in this world. You know what I saw?"

"What?"

"I saw you sneak into my bedroom when I was nine years old. I saw you kidnap me. You want to explain?"

Dean sighed. "I don't have a choice, do I?"

"I'd like to know. I'd like to know what happened while I was gone."

Through the darkness that enveloped the room, Sam could hear his brother turn in the creaky bed, sighing again as he tried to find words to explain his life up until Sam had found him. Obviously, it wasn't an easy task. Finally, though, he spoke.

"When they took us from the camp, they had to test us because dad had told them that our real father was crazy. He'd told everyone that he was going to fix us, and they believed him. But he abandoned us, and they took us away, put us in separate rooms, and talked to us. They asked me about my life, and what John had taught us. I told them. I told them, and I shouldn't have.

"They thought I was crazy, possibly even a threat. They checked with John's old friends in Lawrence, and they ratted him out. Said he'd spent all of his money on weapons and ammo. So, they thought I was crazy, and dangerous. They thought you were normal. The last time I ever saw you, they were leading me down a hallway to a nice little room where a doctor was waiting to see me. When I came back out, they told me you were gone. They said you'd found a home."

"They didn't tell you where?"

"No," Dean said quietly, "they didn't. But, they _did_ tell me that when I got better I could go and see you again. So I tried to get better, I really did, but it seemed like nothing I did was right. They kept telling me I was getting worse, and they kept me locked up in a little back room. They only let me out to talk to the doctors, who just kept on saying I was a lost cause."

"How'd you get out?"

"One day, they let me outside to stretch my legs, and I used all of that training John was so fond of to take the person watching me out. I ran."

"How old were you?" Sam asked, trying to find a comfortable position and finding it impossible with his hand cuffed to the headboard.

"I was twelve. I searched for you for a year before finding you. I looked for a safe place for us to stay, too, but couldn't find one. Then, I realized that it wasn't gonna matter where we were, as long as we were together. So, I went to get you."

"You broke in while my parents were sleeping."

"They weren't your parents, and yeah, I did. But it was winter and I was cold and hungry. If I'd just gotten you when I first broke in, it might have worked out, but I was a stupid kid and I raided the fridge. The Richardsons heard me and came downstairs. I told them who I was, explained myself, and…"

"What, Dean?" Sam asked, sitting up as best he could and staring over at the shape of his brother under the covers, "what happened?" He hated to admit it, but Dean was a better storyteller than he'd imagined, and he was completely engrossed.

"I asked if I could stay with you, and they said I couldn't. They only wanted one kid, and they wanted you. So I asked if I could say good-bye."

"That's when you did it, isn't it? That's when you took me."

Dean nodded. "But you didn't want to run away with me. You, uh, said some things, and, I dunno, I guess I just froze. I stayed in that park until they came and took me again. After that, they said I was more of a threat than before. They said they needed to fix me."

Sammy closed his eyes in the darkness, his stomach taking on that uncomfortable weight again as his heart seemed to quicken its pace in his chest. _Experimental drugs. Electroshock._

"They tried to fix me, they really did. Every new treatment that was made available, I got it. More drugs than I can count, some, uh, some shock therapy, the usual sessions with the doctors. I got it all, man, all of that and my nice little padded cell.

"Five years ago it stopped, though. They said I was better. When they asked me about demons, I talked about that Linda Blair movie, I told them exactly what they wanted to hear, and they let me out. They told me that if I was really good, they'd send you a letter and tell you that I was better. They said I could live with you. I guess they lied, because you never came. Sometimes I think they didn't even send it."

Sam laid back on the bed, his stomach in knots, heart still racing, as guilt wormed its way into his soul. Whoever 'they' were, they _had_ sent the letter, Jess had confirmed that, but Sam hadn't wanted anything to do with his brother. He'd let the older man down again.

"Anyway," Dean continued, "they let me out and I got that apartment and a job flipping burgers at the local fast food joint. It's not much, but I've got a roof over my head. It's been that way for five years now."

"That's…" Sam began, but he wasn't sure how to finish. Nice? Terrible? How about another 'I'm sorry?'

"Yeah, well, sorry to bring you down. What have you been up to?"

"I don't know."

"Oh, come on," Dean scoffed, "sure you do. You've got Jess and Ava. Man, how old is she? Going on a year now, right? Oh, and that nice house in the suburbs and that law degree you always wanted. Not to mention the gas guzzler parked outside, huh? Man, you've got it made."

The gnawing guilt inside Sam's soul suddenly let up. What had Dean said? He knew how old Ava was, knew where Sam's house was, even knew that he'd gotten a degree in Law. He knew too much for someone who'd been out of the loop that long.

"I, um," Sam stumbled, trying to wrap his mind around the mystery that was Dean Winchester, "I can't really remember all that much about it. I know what my other life was like, the one where my brother decided to stay in 1989 and raise us."

It was Dean's turn to sit up in bed. "Really? What was that like? What happened? Did… were we together? Were we happy? Where'd we live? What were our neighbors like? Did dad still hunt, or had he really given that up? What about Jess and Ava? Were they there? Did… Sam, did I have… was I married?"

Without warning, all thoughts of Dean stalking him were pushed from Sam's mind. He sounded so curious, so honestly interested. It was like he needed to know. And Sam was going to tell him.

"You had a wife, a son, and a daughter. I had Ava and Jess, yeah. Dad still hunted a little on the weekends, and sometimes he took you with him. I was a lawyer, and you had a degree in Psychology, but you taught kids how to play instruments." He paused. The next words out of his mouth could devastate the older man, so they had to be chosen carefully. Of course, there _was_ always lying. "We all lived in Jefferson City. You, me, dad, and our families. We were happy."

Dean settled back into his bed, pulling the covers up to his chin. "If we were all happy, why'd you try to change things?"

Sammy sighed. He'd known it was coming. If things were perfect, why mess them up? "Well, it kind of went south in the end. Dad and the girls and the kids were all killed by the demon. It followed us through the wormhole. You and I went hunting and we found it. We just kept hunting after that."

"And you don't want to hunt." There was something in Dean's voice, a kind of reluctant understanding that sent another wave of painful guilt through Sam's body. "You wanted to make things better for us."

"I guess."

"Then why'd you come get me? If dad's dead and you don't even want to be out here, why are we going after the demon? Why not just let it keep the gun?"

"We can't let that demon have control of that gun, Dean, it's-"

"You have a wife and a daughter and it hasn't killed them. If you wanted to make things better, if you wanted them back, then why try to go back and change it all again?"

Sam didn't answer, just stared up at the ceiling. The true reason for his going and getting Dean, the real reason they were in some crummy motel just outside of Iowa, those were things that the elder didn't need to know. Unfortunately, Sammy's silence spoke volumes.

"It's because of me, isn't it?" Dean asked, "You saw what had happened to me and you wanted to change it, right?" There was a kind of quiet excitement in his voice, as if he couldn't believe that anyone would give up something they'd worked so hard for just to help him.

"Are you mad?" Sam asked, even though he could tell that Dean was anything but.

"Disappointed," the older man lied, "you should have the life you always wanted, Sammy, the life dad and I wanted you to have. I'm perfectly fine with where I am right now. If you're happy, you should stay with Jess and Ava. I'll go back home, and we can put this behind us."

Sam shook his head as the handcuffs dug into his wrist, reminding him of just how much his brother really needed him. "No, Dean, this is wrong, and now I have to make it right."

Dean sighed. "All right. If you're sure that's what you want."

Sam could almost hear him smile as he said it.

* * *

Hopefully that's enough to tide you all over until the next time I can update. As always, review, review, review! 


	9. Chapter 9

OK. Time for another chapter. Oh, and good news. They had me shackled to a barrel in a forest at work the other day and now I have bruises all up and down my arms, so I don't think I'll be going back... that means I'll have more time for updates. Be thankful I'm such a wussy, guys!

* * *

The little boy, no older than twelve, stood in the psychic's doorway, dressed only in the white pajamas they'd given him at the hospital, the green bracelet, announcing who he was and who to call if he was found, threatening to slip off his skinny wrist. What was worse, she knew exactly what he was thinking, why he had come, and why he'd run away.

"He said," the boy began in a wavering voice that either indicated lack of use or the beginnings of puberty, "he said you would…" Suddenly, the child with the tousled hair and freckles slid forward, his eyes closing. Missouri Moseley held out her hands to catch him as he fell, exhausted, into her house.

He was unconscious, his voice finally dying away in her head. She'd only opened the door a few seconds ago, but she already knew his story. Dean Winchester, twelve years old, had been kept in a hospital for the past two years for a complete psych evaluation. Obviously, they hadn't liked what they'd found.

He'd been told by someone who she couldn't quite see in his mind's eyes that she would be able to help him, that she would be the one who could keep the two Winchester brothers together forever. She wasn't sure who the mystery man was, but she was positive that she hadn't known him.

The boy had been desperate after getting out of the hospital, had run all the way to Kansas from California just to see her. As much as she hated to do it, though, she just couldn't help him. The boy was damaged, needed serious help, and putting him back with his brother would only make things worse.

So, Missouri laid the boy out on her couch, bending down to take a look at the bracelet on his wrist. She memorized the number, and stood up to get the phone.

"Miss?" the boy suddenly asked, his voice still crackly and weak.

"Yes?" she asked, turning to face him.

"My father said you would take care of me and my brother. Is that true?"

Missouri thought about it for a moment. "I could have sworn John had left you in Jim Murphy's care."

"John didn't tell me to come. This is gonna sound crazy, bit I'm the one who sent me."

The psychic sighed, sitting down in a chair across from the couch. "You hearing voices, Dean?"

"You know my name?" the boy asked, perking up a bit, "did he call you? Is everything all set up? When can we get Sammy?"

"Slow down, child, you'll hurt yourself. Nobody's called me. Now, tell me why you're here. The whole story, from beginning to end. Who sent you?"

Dean sighed and launched into the story of a wormhole in Topeka a few years back, a wormhole that had brought him and his brother face-to-face with their future selves. He explained that he had stayed behind to give the kids exactly what they'd always wanted, but he'd been sidetracked by something the first summer. He'd left them at camp and hadn't come back. "I know he'll be coming soon," the boy stated confidently, "because he said he'd never leave me alone."

"You really think he'll be coming to get you?"

"I know he will. He promised. Until then, though, I guess you can take care of me. We've gotta get Sammy first, though. I wanna rub it in his face when dad gets back."

The psychic shook her head. "I don't know who put that nonsense in your head, Dean, but you can't stay here. You can't just run away from a mental hospital and expect a complete stranger to take you in."

"But you know I'm not crazy."

"It doesn't matter what I think, or know. What matters is everyone else's opinion of you. I'm sorry, but I have to call the police. I have to tell them you're here."

The boy's face fell. "But, he said… he told me you would…"

"He should have talked to me first. I'm sorry."

Dean shot to his feet, fire in his eyes. "He shouldn't have had to. He said you were a good person and he said you would help me."

"Well, then, he lied."

"Do _not_ call him a liar. He wouldn't lie to me. He's not like John. He's _nothing_ like John."

Missouri gazed at the pale little boy, who was making no sense in his connection. "I have to do what's right. You know that."

The boy, still not quite steady on his feet after such a long trip, just scowled at her. "Fine," he spat, "if you won't help me, I'll find someone who _will_. I don't need you."

"No one else will take you in," she pointed out, "you're sick, Dean. They won't hide you from those doctors."

"I'll just have to find my brother on my own, then, won't I?" he asked, heading shakily to the door, "I'll find a place for us to stay, and I'll get him, and we'll be a family again. And when my dad gets back and I tell him what you did, he's gonna tear you a new one. You won't even know what hit you." And with that, the skinny, pale child stormed from the house, with nowhere to go and no one to run to. The thing that scared the psychic the most, though, was that he really believed his father would come back and save him.

* * *

Sam jumped awake, his wrist sore, sweat cascading down his face. _Great,_ he thought, _now I can see the past, too. Just what I need this week._

Dean and Missouri, fighting over the very future of a family. A sudden, frightening thought occurred to Sam and he gasped aloud in the darkened room, hoping his brother was asleep. _"He's gonna tear you a new one. You won't even know what hit you._"

What was it Missouri had said about Sam repaying their father for his kindness? Their father was Dean, and Dean was their father. Was it possible that he had gone back, so many years after that first confrontation, to make good on his promise?

It all came back to the question: was Dean capable of murder? It was a question Sam wasn't sure he wanted to answer.

* * *

Ooh... good question, Sammy. Gee, I wonder if that'll be answered in the future? Guess we'll all just have to stay tuned, huh?


	10. Chapter 10

Well, I'm back again, with another update. As always, there would not be another update without faithful readers adn reviewers, so thank you all!

* * *

"Who knew a hunter could also be a football fan?" Dean chuckled as he and Sam pulled into the driveway of their old friend's home. A Nebraska Cornhuskers flag flew proudly on the flagpole beside the driveway, announcing to anyone who had missed the signs that they were in the Cornhusker state, and, yes, they love their Huskers.

Sammy sighed, climbing out of the car and stretching. "We're in Nebraska. It's a given."

Dean nodded and headed up to the front door, which also housed a small flag, and knocked loudly. A muffled voice yelled something from the interior of the house and the door was pulled suddenly open, revealing a man in his early forties with piercing eyes and no hair.

"What do you want?" the man asked, looking the brothers over.

"I'm Sam, and this Dean," Sammy said, "we're John Winchester's kids, and we need your help."

The man's eyes softened. "John's boys, eh? Yeah, I thought you looked kinda like him. Well, one of you, at least. What's up?"

"The demon that killed our mother," Dean explained, "we're hoping to go after it."

Caleb smiled. "We'll, it won't be expecting you now, that's for sure. Why the long wait in going after the sucker?"

"We got a little sidetracked," Sam explained, "can we come in?"

The older hunter nodded, stepping back and allowing the boys entrance to his home, which was packed with old books and dusty boxes. Various symbols had been drawn on the floor and walls, and salt circled every possible way to get into the house, including the mouse holes.

"So," Dean began, surveying the dwelling, "how about those Huskers?"

"I wouldn't know anything about football," Caleb admitted, "I put up the flag and wear the clothes to keep suspicion low. Can't have anyone poking around, now, can I?"

"No, I suppose you can't," Sam grinned.

"So, what's up? What do you need my help with?"

"The demon that killed our mother took an antique Colt revolver from a man named Daniel Elkins in 1989," Sam explained, "we need to get it back. It's probably the only thing that can kill the demon. The only problem is that we've been out of the loop for a while, and neither of us has anything to fight this thing with. We need weapons, and we figured you could give them to us."

The older hunter smiled, nodding as he crossed the room and opened a hidden door to reveal what appeared to be a large safe. "Believe it or not, you boys aren't the only ones to come here looking for weapons. I'm a bit of a stock-piler." The safe door swung back, revealing a room filled to the top with various weapons. "Guns, knives, crossbows, salt, holy water, I've got it all, man. Help yourselves, because there's more where that comes from."

"Thanks," Sammy grinned, "thanks a lot, man."

"No problem. John was a good man. When I heard about what that demon did to him-"

"Someone told you?" Dean asked.

"Yeah, actually," Caleb replied, "his brother-in-law. Your uncle. He made the call right after he was sure you boys could stay with him. Only heard from him that once, though. It sounded like John had taken his own life, thinking he was possessed. Way I see it, he probably was, and shot himself to get rid of it. I always figured you boys had grown up normal with that uncle. What happened?"

"He dropped us off at camp and never came back," Dean muttered, "we haven't seen him since. Hell, it's been years since I've seen Sammy."

The older man hung his head as Sam wandered into the weapons room to take a look around. "I'm sorry."

"Hey, it's not like it's your fault. So, what do you think we'll need?"

Sam poked his head out of the room. "Salt, holy water, and just about everything else we can find. For all we know, the thing has a bunch of supernatural bodyguards. It's probably best to be prepared."

Caleb nodded, walking into the room to help his old friend's son find exactly what he needed to fight off anything that crossed his path. Dean hung around outside the hidden room for a while before finally heading in to help.

It didn't take long for Sam to head out to the SUV with a bag full of everything he could possibly need. All he had left to do was find a place within the car to hide his stash.

"So," Caleb began, filling up another bag for the brothers as Sam poked around his car, "you and your brother haven't kept in touch?"

"We were kind of forced apart," Dean explained, making sure the guns they were stacking into the bag were loaded.

"And you haven't been hunting since your dad died? You remember how to work half this stuff?"

The younger man shrugged. "Like riding a bike."

"All right. Well, I think you guys are set. But why wait until now to kill this thing?"

"Sam seems to think that with the demon out of the way he can finally have that apple pie life he's wanted so much."

"What do you think?"

"I think that he shouldn't put so much stock into normalcy. Trust me, being normal and sane doesn't make you happy. It's being with your family, your _real_ family, that life's all about. As long as we're together, we'll be all right."

Caleb narrowed his eyes. He had pretty good instincts, instincts that came in handy in the field, and he could tell that something was off. "So, you gonna settle down with him after all of this is over?"

"Are you kidding? We can't settle down. It'll never be over. There's always something to hunt, always more evil. He can't go back to Sacramento. That would ruin everything."

The older hunter opened his mouth to say something just as Sam walked in, ready to take another load out to the SUV. Dean happily handed over the weapons, shooting Caleb a threatening glance, one that clearly said 'if you tell him what I said, you'll regret it.'

* * *

Dean had taken the car and driven out to the library to figure out where the demon might have been in 1989. Sam had told him the patterns to look for, and trusted his brother enough to let the man search for their sworn enemy.

In the meantime, Sam was laying on one of the room's beds, wishing more than ever before that he could have had his father's journal. At least then they might have an exorcism to use on the demon back in '89, or maybe even a new snippet of information on the Big Bad. Besides, reading his father's cramped handwriting would have been a lot more fun that flipping channels on the TV as he waited for Dean to come back.

Television had lately taken a turn for the worse. On one channel a young man was being hit by a meteor, on another a housewife was becoming more desperate by the second, and he didn't even want to _think_ about what was going on on the Discovery Channel.

Suddenly, his phone vibrated in his pocket, startling him from a scene of a boy curled up in a bathtub in someone's garage. He clicked off the set and answered his ringing phone. "Yeah?"

"Sam? It's Caleb."

"Caleb?" Sam asked, "what is it? Did we forget something?"

"No, no, of course not. Listen, man, is your brother there?"

"Dean left to go to the library. Why?"

Over the phone, Caleb sighed. "Good. Sam, I'm scared."

"Of what?"

"Your brother. I'm scared of Dean, and I'm scared for you."

Sam laughed. "Why would you be scared of Dean. I mean, he's a little rough around the edges, sure, but he's harmless-"

"He said some things today, Sammy, when you out loading up the car. He was talking like he wasn't gonna let you go back to your wife and daughter, like he was gonna try and keep you all to himself. He was talking like he was crazy."

Sam straightened up a little in the bed. "My brother's not crazy," he muttered, "he's not."

"Well he sure sounded like he was," Caleb shot back, "I'm just worried he might hurt your family."

"He _is_ my family."

"I just don't want anything to happen to that little girl of yours, OK? I think maybe you should talk to him. Just explain that you have a family and-"

"I already told you, Dean _is_ my family."

"He's also crazy, Sam."

Sammy sighed, closing his eyes. "He's not. You just think he is. He's not crazy, Caleb, he can't be."

"People are gonna get hurt, man, you can't deny that. There's something off about him, and-"

"Just stop, all right. He's fine. He won't hurt anyone, not if I have anything to say about it. He needs my help right now, OK, and I'm gonna help him."

"Sam, you're not hearing me," Caleb began as a knocking noise was heard in the background, "listen, man, just keep your eyes open and make sure you don't let him near any small children, all right? Now, I gotta go, someone's at the door, and it's probably important. Call me if he snaps, and I can be there in record time, you got it?"

"Fine," Sam nodded as his friend's phone clicked off. He shoved his own cell back into his pocket. First Jess, then Caleb. Did everyone think his brother was crazy? Was Sam the only one left with faith in the man?

That faith was being shaken, though, wasn't it? He was beginning to doubt Dean's sanity, and the more his doubt grew, the worse his guilt for the whole situation got. After all, he was the one who'd given Jake the chance to shoot. He was the one who'd let them stay separated. It was all his fault.

* * *

Caleb crossed the room, tossing his phone back onto an old easy chair as he neared the door. The pounding continued. "I'm coming," the hunter yelled as he wrenched open the thick door to reveal a very angry-looking Dean Winchester.

"You shouldn't have told him that," the younger man growled, charging into the house and pulling out the knife he'd hidden in his pocket after acquiring it from Caleb earlier that day.

* * *

Sam had never seen 'House of Wax.' His brother had rented it once, and they had planned on watching it with their wives. Then, the fire had happened, and the movie had been forgotten. So, when Sammy found it on the motel room's tiny television he decided to check it out. The movie had ended and Sam was trying to figure out whether or not the first character that had died had actually been dead when the house had melted when Dean walked in. One look at his brother, and the young hunter gasped.

Dark red blood drenched the front of Dean's shirt and his pants down to mid-thigh. It looked almost as if he'd brutally murdered someone.

"What happened?" Sam asked, shocked.

Dean shrugged, throwing the keys onto the dresser and making his way to the bathroom. "I was driving back here when I saw a dead deer lying across the middle of the road. I figured someone had hit it, and other people would probably wreck trying to avoid it, so I pulled over and drug it to the side of the road. Guess it was still bleeding pretty bad."

"Is there any in my car?"

"Uh, no, I made sure I was careful. Hey, toss me some clothes so I can clean up, will you?"

Sam nodded and dug through the bag his brother had packed, rifling past some yellowing socks and the handcuffs before finding a clean shirt and jeans. He threw them to his brother and watched as Dean stalked into the bathroom to wash up.

"Who knew road kill could be so messy?" he asked himself before his mind traveled back to the mystery murder in the movie.

* * *

Dramatic music plays Well, that can't be good now, can it?


	11. Chapter 11

Time for another really long chapter and some good news. First off, the news. I just finished the story on Word. 81 pages, a whole lot of words, adn totally worth it. Surprisingly, not the longest story I've ever written. So, look for chapters 12-21 soon, then say good-bye to wormholes (possibly) fior good. You know me and sequels: I just can't resist another good chance to mess with these boys.

Oh, and speaking of the boys... here's that chapter I mentioned!

* * *

Dean had insisted that they go back and thank Caleb again before heading to Manning, had insisted on saying good-bye. Sam was actually glad he had, because if it hadn't been Dean's idea, he would have wound up being the main suspect. Why would a murderer voluntarily return to the scene of the crime, especially with a guest in tow?

Caleb was dead. The crime tape was stuck up around his house and the police were pushing neighbors back. A local newswoman was telling the camera that he'd been stabbed to death in his own home, with no sign of forced entry.

Sam's stomach twisted as he heard that. Had the murderer been the one to drag Caleb off the phone the night before? Had Sammy actually heard his friend's killer knocking on the front door? He supposed that it was completely possible.

"Man," Dean breathed, surveying the scene with a look of dismay on his thin face, "some people are just crazy, huh? Knock on a guy's door and stab him to death? What do you think the motive was?"

Sam shrugged. "No way to know. So, hit the road?"

Dean nodded, walking with his brother back to the car. "Let's head out to Colorado, home of the Rocky Mountains and the Stanley Hotel. Hey, that gives me an idea. After we're done with the demon, you wanna check in and see if the place goes all 'Shining' on us?"

"Nah, I'm gonna be heading home," Sam said, "got a wife and kid to take care of."

Dean frowned. "Right, yeah. Just a quick question, though. How am I supposed to get back home? I don't have a car."

"I'll take you home."

"Oh. Back to Connecticut?"

"Yes, Dean," Sam nodded, "back to Connecticut."

Dean stopped beside the car. "Hey, man, can I drive?"

Sam stood and stared at him. Finally, something familiar coming out. He tossed his brother the keys and moved around to the passenger side. "Sure thing."

Dean caught the keys, smiling, and pulled open the driver's side door. He slid in behind the wheel and adjusted the seat and mirrors. "This is great, huh? Just the two of us, out on the road. Like we're a family again."

"We never stopped being a family, Dean."

"Sure we did," the elder shrugged as he started the car and pulled away from Caleb's house, "back when we got separated. And then when I ran away, we still weren't a family. Even when they let me out. But we're back together now, and nothing can tear us apart, right?"

"I guess," Sam replied, staring out the window and wondering who on Earth would have wanted Caleb dead.

"We're gonna keep in touch, aren't we?"

"You don't have a phone or computer."

"We could write. You know, letters. Snail mail still exists, Sammy."

Sam sighed. "I suppose, but I'm kind of busy, you know, trying to piece my life together again." The truth was, he wasn't even sure he was going to stay in that world. He was hoping on changing things in the past enough that this present would never happen. He wanted his wife and daughter, sure, but was it really worth it if Dean was miserable, poor, and crazy?

"I can help you. I was kind of afraid to tell you before, but I've been keeping up on what's happening to you. I saved up some money after they let me out and hired someone to find you. After that, I kept up surveillance on my own."

"You've been stalking me?"

"I just wanted to make sure you were happy," Dean defended, "I wanted to keep you safe."

"But how were you keeping tabs on me if we lived on opposite sides of the continent?"

"That was tricky," the elder nodded, "but I, uh, bought a few little cameras, broke into your place a few years back, and set them up. I've got the TV in my bedroom."

Sam blinked. He let out a slow breath. He stuck a finger in his ear to make sure that nothing was changing his ability to hear correctly. "You've been watching me?"

Dean glanced at him quickly. "I had to make sure you were safe." There was such innocence in his voice that Sam was tempted to forgive him.

"Dean," he said quietly, "no offense, man, but that's kind of creepy. And I wouldn't go around telling people that if I were you. They'll think you're crazy."

"Did Caleb tell you that?"

"Um, yeah, actually, he-" Sam didn't have a chance to finish his sentence due to lack of consciousness. Dean had pulled a bloody knife out of his pocket and whacked his brother over the head with it, effectively silencing the younger man.

"Sorry, Sammy," Dean mumbled as he pulled the SUV off to the side of the road, "but I can't lose you again. Not now. Not when we were so close to being a family." He got out of the car and went around the back to grab his handcuffs. No, nothing was taking his brother away, not again.

* * *

When Sam woke up, his first thought was that Dean had stuffed him in the trunk. It was dark and cramped and his head hurt. Then, he realized that the Impala had been left in Manning in 1989. Scratch the trunk theory.

He opened his eyes and looked around. It had seemed dark because they were driving through a growing storm and the sun was setting behind the cloud cover. Rain beat at the windshield as lightning forked across the sky, reflecting in Dean's eyes as the crazy man obeyed every traffic law, careful not to get pulled over.

Sam was in the backseat of his car, laying sideways, with his hands cuffed behind him. He had no idea where they were going or when the weather had turned bad. Hell, he wasn't even sure what time it was.

"Dean," he muttered, surprised to find that he hadn't been gagged, "where are we?"

"On our way to Manning," the elder said, keeping his eyes trained on the road as the severity of the storm increased.

"We're still gonna hunt down the demon?"

"No. We're gonna live there. I figure Elkins' cabin's been abandoned for years now. No one would look for us up there. We'd be safe."

"Safe from what?" Sam asked, shaking his head slowly and trying to clear it. What had his brother hit him with?

"From _them_," Dean answered, squinting as another bolt of lightening tore across the constantly darkening sky.

_Great,_ Sam thought, closing his eyes, _paranoid delusions. What else could possibly go wrong today?_

"Hey," Dean muttered from the front seat, turning his head slightly to look back at Sam, "you all right? I mean, I hope I didn't hit you too hard."

"You attacked me and now you're asking if I'm all right? Maybe Caleb was right." Suddenly, Sam understood. Asking to say good-bye was all part of the plan, all to prove his innocence. "You did it, didn't you? You're the one who killed Caleb. That was his blood on your shirt last night."

Dean nodded slowly. "I didn't want to, Sammy. You have to understand that. I didn't want to. But he was trying to tear us apart. He wanted you to leave me again. I just couldn't let that happen. I had to stop him before he got to you. I wasn't too late, was I?"

Sam sighed. "In Pennsylvania, you killed a cop, didn't you?"

"I didn't want to do that, either, Sam. She saw my face, though. What was I supposed to do? She would have called them and reported it. She would have told them I'd hit her and stolen her cuffs."

"So you killed her?"

"I had to make sure you would be there when I woke up."

"Dean," Sam groaned, "you killed a person. An innocent person. Caleb was innocent, too. He just wanted to help. So did Missouri."

Dean stiffened as another bolt of lightning flashed across the sky and the rain began to let up. "How'd you know about that?" he whispered.

"I had a dream. You were a kid and she wouldn't help you kidnap me. Why'd you kill her?"

"I couldn't let her make a liar out of him," Dean said quietly, his low voice barely audible over the rain pattering off the car, "I just couldn't. Dad didn't deserve that."

"So you murdered her?"

Dean nodded. "I rang the doorbell and she answered the door. At first she didn't know who I was. She invited me in. We sat down and talked for a while. Then I pulled the knife. I stabbed her eleven times, one wound for each year I'd been alone. She screamed, but she deserved it. She shouldn't have told me he lied. He _never_ lied to me."

Sammy shook his head. "You're crazy, man."

"Who do you think made me that way? I was doing just fine before they took me and messed me up. I was all right until they took you away. If it hadn't have been for them, I'd be _fine_ right now."

_He doesn't get it,_ Sam thought sadly, _he doesn't know it was my fault. That, or he's not _letting_ himself get it. Maybe to him I can't do any wrong._

"Dean," he said, "I'm sorry."

"So am I, but you need to trust your big brother on this one, Sammy. Things will be better once we get to Manning. No one can mess with us once we're there."

The SUV drove along as the rain started to let up and the pounding in Sam's head ceased. They drove for a while in silence before Dean pulled off into a rest area. It was night, and the place was abandoned. The elder man pulled into a parking space and stopped the car.

"Gotta take a leak," he grinned, slamming the door and locking it before heading up to the rest station.

Sam sighed, relaxing as much as he could in the uncomfortable position. He was certain that Dean wouldn't hurt him; some things never changed, no matter where you were, but he was still worried. He was worried about Jess. And Ava. He missed them now more than ever before.

Headlights flashed outside as another car pulled into the rest station. Some weary nighttime traveler who'd had enough of the open road, or maybe just needed a potty break. Either way, Sam was shocked when the door to the SUV was suddenly pulled open.

He sat up, the cuffs cutting into his wrists, to look at the person who had broken into his car. It was Jessica.

"What are you doing here?" Sam asked urgently as panic wiggled its way into his system.

"I was worried about you," Jess explained, shoving her keys back into her pocket, "I was trying to find you. I figured I'd just take all of the main roads to Connecticut and then double back. I recognized the car in the lot and pulled in. Sammy, what did he do to you?"

She helped him sit up and began trying to pull him from the car. "Jess," he hissed, "you have to leave. _Now_. I can take care of myself. I don't want anything to happen to you."

"Stop being so noble," she snapped, "you've been handcuffed in the back of your own car and your head is bleeding. Now come on, I'm getting you out of here."

He slid from the car and she put her arms around him, heading for the Buick she'd bought with her own money just a few years back. It wasn't exactly Soccer Mom material, but it would do until Ava got into school. Sam struggled a little at first, but finally gave in and let himself be pulled to the small car.

Suddenly, a shot rang out in the still night air and Jess fell to the ground, blood pooling on the cement as the wound in her stomach emptied the crimson liquid from her body. Sam fell by her side, on his knees, not even bothering to turn around and see who had shot his wife. He already knew.

Dean walked up beside his little brother. "It's better this way, Sammy," he said serenely, "no one's gonna tear us apart now. I won't let them."

Anger bubbled up within him suddenly and Sam whipped his head around, ignoring a splitting headache that seemed to come from nowhere. If he hadn't been cuffed, he would have lashed out at the older man, trying to hurt him in any way possible. Instead, Dean went sailing back through the air, across the parking lot, and landed squarely on one of the stone picnic tables that had been set up. His head hit the cement loud enough that Sam could hear it through the fog of his grief.

There, at the rest stop, kneeling over his dead wife's body, Sammy knew what he had to do. He had to make things right, once and for all. He couldn't keep doing this. He needed that gun.

* * *

Oooooh... Dean's a murderer. What could possibly go wrong now? Guess you'll just have to stay tuned and find out! 


	12. Chapter 12

Heehee... Dean's totally lost it and Sam's wife is dead. I really hope things can be resolved soon, don't you? Of course, knowing me, it'll be a few more chapters :)

* * *

Dean had hit his head hard, and it took him about three hours to fully come around. When he woke up, he found that he was alone, his hands cuffed behind his back, and laying on the cold, mossy ground. Near him, he could barely make out the silhouette of an aging cabin.

"Sammy?" he muttered, confused, "what happened?"

Sam appeared beside him, anger apparent on his face. "Don't you remember?" he shouted, "you killed my wife!"

"No choice," Dean replied groggily, "couldn't lose you again. We at Elkins'?"

Sam nodded. "Yeah, it's Elkins' place."

"Good boy," the elder smiled, "now get these cuffs off and we can go see how the old place's upkeep's been, huh?"

Sam shook his head. He'd fished through his unconscious brother's pockets for the key and cuffed the older man for a reason. Dean was dangerous. He couldn't risk his psychotic brother lashing out at anymore innocent people.

"No, Dean. I'm going back."

"Back to Cali?" Dean asked with a hint of fear in his hazel eyes.

"No. Back to '89. I'm fixing this."

"You can't. He died, Sam, and there's no bringing him back now. You can't just drop us off with some random person on the street, either. It won't work. I'm just too messed up. Face it. All we've got is us now. All we've got is each other."

Sam shook his head. "I'm not falling for it, man. You're sick and you need help. I'm not gonna let this happen to you. I can fix it. You just stay here, and-"

"Will you come back?"

"Hopefully, to another time. One where you're not so buckets of crazy."

"Sam," Dean whispered as his brother turned to the wormhole, "please. I'll try to get better."

"It doesn't work like that and you know it."

"I'll do anything you want," he pleaded, standing up shakily and stumbling forward a couple of steps before falling back down to his knees, "I'll do anything, _give you _anything, just, please, stay with me. Don't leave again. Don't make a liar out of him."

"What?"

"Dad. He told me that first night we were an actual family again that I'd never have to be alone again. Please don't make him a liar, Sammy. Just stay with me. You know I'd never hurt you."

Sam sighed, shoving his hands in his pockets, and looked at his brother, who seemed so weak, and pale, and innocent, and scared in the small amount of moonlight filtering through the clouds and trees. Looks can be deceiving, though, and Sam knew better.

"I'll make it right, Dean, I swear."

"Wait! Please, I've never asked you for anything."

"I'm not gonna live like this," Sam snapped, "like some fugitive in a run-down old cabin with my psychotic brother. I can't do it."

"Then end it," Dean whispered, "just end it."

"What did you say?"

"End it for me, Sammy. If you're not going to come back, if he lied, then there's nothing left for me to live for. I used to think he'd come and save me from them, I used to think you'd find me and we'd be a family again. I never took the incentive because I thought you would do it. And then you did. But it's not right. It's not the way I wanted it, and I just can't deal with that. I _won't_. So end it, Sam. I know you've got the guns. Just end it for me. Please."

Sammy stared at his brother. The man was usually so strong, so secure, so… not crazy. Not begging for his death. "I can't do it, Dean."

Something like anger crossed his brother's face, that subtle, hidden malice playing in his eyes again. "Fine, Sammy," he hissed, "I just hope that you make things better. Because if you don't, you won't have much of a homecoming party. It'll just be me. You know, I've never killed a kid before, but I'm sure I could do it. Can't be that hard."

"No," Sam whispered, realizing what Dean was suggesting, "you can't go after Ava. She's just a baby."

"Kill me, or I kill her."

Without hesitation, Sam drew the gun he'd stuffed into the waistband of his jeans and shot his brother through the head. Dean smiled a bit as his body went limp and he fell sideways onto the cold, frozen earth.

Without even checking to see if he was really dead, Sam turned and stepped through the wormhole, his stomach doing summersaults as he fell through time and landed with a thump beside the trunk, right next to his dead brother.

Dean lay there, eyes open and glassy and accusing, a neat little bullet hole in the middle of his chest. Sam scrambled to his feet and grabbed his brother under the arms, pulling him into the cabin. The kids didn't know that he was dead, would think he'd just abandoned them until they saw a body. As much as he hated to do it, Sam was going to show them that body.

"Camp Witkit," he muttered, pulling the Impala's keys from Dean's pocket and heading out of the small cabin.

* * *

You know what this means, right? More Weechesters!


	13. Chapter 13

OK, first off, I have to tell you how happy I am that people are replying, and, second, I should probably explain something. A couple of people have asked why Sam didn't just go farther back in time, before anyone was killed, and prevent the murder. While I'm not saying I'm an expert on time travel or anything (it gives me a major headache), I'm asking you to believe that the wormhole is created by the demon (Jake), who set it to go back to a specific time. Sam can't control that. He's just dumped off whenever it takes him, which is apparently a few hours or days after Dean's death.

Gee, I hope that cleared things up and didn't confuse anyone worse. Oh, well, here's anothr chapter!

* * *

"He's not coming," the little boy with the shaggy brown hair muttered as he and his big brother sat on the curb outside of Camp Witkit's front gate.

"He'll be here," Dean hissed through clenched teeth, watching the road even as he listened for the familiar sound of the Impala's engine.

"He should have been here two hours ago," Sammy pointed out, turning to look back at the gates. Those people, the counselors, were in there, watching the two boys wait, wondering when they should pick up the phone and call the police. He knew it, could sense it, but just couldn't find the heart to tell his brother, who had so much hope.

"He just got a little sidetracked," Dean insisted as Sam turned his head back to the road.

Suddenly, his gaze snapped back to the gate, which buckled under the pressure of some unseen force. They'd done it. They'd picked up the phone. They were dialing the number.

And then he felt it, radiating from the one who had been planning to call. Confusion, because she wasn't getting a dial tone. Something had broken the phone. It was the same thing that had broken the gate off a safe door in Manning, Colorado two months before, the same thing that sometimes got out of control and sent various objects flying across the room as if they were nothing. It was something the little six-year-old boy was trying to get rid of by not using. His father had told him that if he didn't practice, it wouldn't get stronger. He'd said it would just go away.

But this was a matter of family, and family always came first. Sam's new father had told him that, too.

Off in the distance, an engine sputtered along, the car it belonged to kicking up a trail of dust as it sped down the old dirt road toward the camp. Dean smiled. "Told you he'd come back."

Sammy grinned, indulging his brother, even though he already knew that their father wasn't in the car.

The Impala pulled to a stop beside them and Dean wrenched the door open and froze, his eyes suddenly going wide. "What are you doing here?" he whispered, taking a step back and tripping over the curb.

"Get in the car," the driver snapped, looking the boys over.

"I want to know why you're here first," Dean challenged, picking himself up off the curb and grabbing his backpack, "I wanna know why you came back."

The man in the car sighed, shaking his head. "Listen, kid, I don't have the time to explain here. Just get in the car."

The boy shook his head. "My father told me to never get in cars with strangers."

"You know me."

"Do I?"

"Dean, just get in the damned car before I have to pull you in here myself!"

Dean just stared at him, not moving an inch. "My father told me it isn't nice to swear."

The man behind the wheel hung his head, sighing deeply. "Do you want to see your dad or not?"

"Where is he? What did you do with him?"

"He's up in Manning. He, uh, told me to come get you. There's something up there we both want to show you. Get in the car and I'll take you."

"Why didn't he come here himself?" Dean asked, "why didn't he just make you stay up there? How'd you even get here, anyway?"

"I'll explain on the way, just throw your stuff into the backseat and climb in."

"I'd rather put it in the front," Dean said coolly, throwing his backpack into the front passenger seat before grabbing his brother's and doing the same with it. He slammed the door and moved around to the back, sliding into the car and pulling his little brother in beside him. "Start explaining."

They were a few miles outside of California before Sam finally finished his story, starting with what had happened after he'd first left 1989 and ending with trying to change things again.

"But you were happy," Dean argued, "we all were. Why change something that good?"

"It wasn't good, all right," Sam shot back, "not for me. I just wanted my family back."

"You still had me."

"That wasn't enough." He closed his eyes, opened them again, and checked the rearview. The little boy with the freckles wasn't looking at him, just stared at his own feet. "Look, I didn't mean it-"

"Why's dad in Manning?" Dean asked, still not looking up.

"He wanted to go back for the gun. Listen, guys, I hate to bear bad news, but when I came back here, something happened."

"What?"

"That demon, Jake, he came back, just like I told you, and he followed me here. He used me as a distraction and he-"

"No," Dean whispered, looking up again, "no, don't say it."

"He shot your dad, all right."

"You're lying."

"I didn't mean for it to happen, but-"

"He's not dead. He can't be."

"Accidents happen."

"He was gonna take care of us. He promised. He can't _die_."

"I'm sorry," Sam said weakly, "but I had to tell you."

"Why?" Dean asked, "why not just leave us there to get some normal parents and that counseling I so desperately deserve? Why come get us and take us to the scene of our father's murder?"

"Because he went forward again," a little voice piped up. Sam snapped his head around. He'd almost forgotten about the other boy, who hadn't said a word since he'd climbed into the car. "Didn't you? And you saw what it could have been."

Sam nodded. "Yeah. I did."

"What happened?" Dean asked quietly, "what was so bad that you had to come back here again?"

Sam just looked back into the mirror, determined not to tell the kids of the horrors he'd seen.

"It happened, didn't it?" Dean said, a small smile forming on his face as his eyes glinted, "what dad and I said. It happened. We got separated, and you were happy, and I was nuts."

Sam sighed. "Yeah. He was right. _You_ were right. I'm sorry. I should have believed you."

"Too late to change things now."


	14. Chapter 14

Time for yet another chapter in the incredibly long story that apparently never ends.

* * *

He didn't want to do it. The kids were bad enough off as it was, the silence in the car had proven that much. But he had to. Had to make them understand. Because if they knew he was dead, if they knew he hadn't just up and left, maybe things would be different. Maybe he could save his brother's sanity.

He pulled the door open.

"Dude," Dean shouted, pulling his little brother into his arms and holding him, keeping the small boy's face turned from the door, "what are you trying to do, scar us for life?"

Sam just stared at the kid, who was trying to comfort his sobbing brother. He was also staring at the body slumped just beyond the doorway with a sort of sick fascination. Or maybe it was disbelief. Sam had never been too good at reading his brother.

He stepped quickly past the kids and into the room, where he looped his arms under the dead man and carried him out into the sunlight. He laid the body down on the cold ground and headed off to the car, where he was sure Dean had packed the supplies needed to bury a body.

The trunk popped open and Sam dug around inside for a while. His brother had certainly been busy that summer, and the trunk was loaded with everything needed to hunt and kill evil. He grabbed a shovel, a gas can, rock-salt, and a lighter before heading back to the body.

"You came back?" Dean asked as Sam approached with the equipment.

"Well, we have to give him a proper burial, don't we?"

"You're gonna dig a hole and throw him into it. That's not proper. That's you trying to make yourself feel better because you let a good man die. And after you bury him, what are you gonna do? Go back and hope that I'm not some schizoid in an asylum?"

Sam dropped the stuff he was holding and stared at the kid. "How-?"

"Sammy told me everything. Now, you gonna dig that hole, or do I have to do it for you?"

Sam sighed, stooping to pick up the shovel, and began his work, digging the hole deep and hating every minute of the backbreaking labor. No one should ever have to dig their own brother's grave.

* * *

The boys watched as Sam lifted his brother's cold body into the hole as best he could, trying hard not to drop the older man. He laid him down in the grave, fighting back bitter tears as the reality of what he was doing and why he had to do it finally hit him fully. His brother was dead, they were going to be orphans again, and it was all his fault.

He climbed out of the grave and smiled weakly at the kids, who just stared blankly back at him. They stood at the hole's edge and watched their father's body get covered in salt and gasoline.

Sam pulled the lighter out of his pocket and went to stand beside the boys, looking sadly down at them. They kept staring into the grave, getting ready to watch their last hopes of normalcy and family go up in smoke.

He didn't notice the change in Dean's features as the boy spotted something he hadn't seen before, one last little piece of family that he might be able to hang onto long after his biological parents, adopted father, and only brother were gone. It was something physical, something he could touch, and hold, and keep close to his heart. He wanted it, but knew it was too late.

Sam clicked the lighter. Once, twice, three times, and nothing happened. He frowned. It wasn't like Dean to keep something as important as a lighter around if it didn't work.

"Is something wrong?" the youngest boy asked.

"Lighter doesn't work," Sam replied, tossing it toward the cabin, "I saw some matches in the trunk, though. Think I'll go get them."

"I'll go with you," Sammy grinned, taking his hand and leading him to the car as Dean slipped, unseen, into the grave behind them.

"Your brother doesn't like me much, does he?" Sam asked as he popped the trunk open again.

The little boy shrugged. "I dunno."

"Come on, kid," Sam sighed, rifling through the odds and ends in the trunk, "I know you've still got the Shining. How else would you have known I'd gone back to my own time and found out how wrecked your brother was?"

The boy's shoulder's slumped. "He doesn't trust you. You did something to him last time, and it scared him. I don't know what you did, he won't let me see that, but I know he's scared. And he doesn't get scared easily."

"Great," Sam sighed, pulling the matchbook out of the trunk and slamming the lid shut with a bang, "so the kid's scared of me, but he's too stubborn to just break down and cry like normal ten-year-olds, so I've gotta deal with wise-ass remarks and that attitude of his."

"If it makes you feel any better," Sammy said quietly, offering his hand to the adult again, "he's scared of me, too, now. And he does cry, late at night, when he thinks no one can hear him."

"Even better. I get dumped into a time period with an _emotionally damaged_ wise-ass kid."

The little boy just looked up at him. "It makes you feel bad and you know it, because no matter what, both of us can't be happy. If you get what you want, Dean suffers. If he gets what he wants, you suffer. And there's no way to fix that."

"You know, you're pretty deep for a six-year-old."

"Daddy said the same thing."

"What did daddy say?" Dean asked, turning from the grave and shoving something into the neck of his shirt. He wiped his dirty, wet hands on his jeans and smiled innocently.

"Just that I'm smarter than you," Sam grinned, a little confused by the new smudge of dirt on the boy's face.

Dean's smile faded. "Oh. Well," he started fiddling with the top few buttons on his ragged old shirt, "we gonna do this or what?"

Sam nodded, striking a match and dropping it into the grave. Fire lit the sky as the littlest boy began to cry, wrapping his thin arms around his brother's neck and sobbing deeply into his shirt.

"We had to do it," Sam muttered, finally failing to hold back his own tears, "we had to make sure he wouldn't come back."

"Yeah," Dean agreed sarcastically, "because that would just be _catastrophic_, wouldn't it?"

"Don't even start with me, kid."

"What are you gonna do, make me go crazy?"

"You don't know what I've been through."

"You're right. I don't. Having that happy, normal family of yours must have been pure Hell, you poor baby."

"I'm really not in the mood right now, Dean."

"Neither am I. I'm standing beside my own grave watching myself burn. I've gotta say, that's pretty emotionally damaging."

Sam snorted. "You are just like him, you know that? A wise-cracking little punk with no life outside of hunting."

"I'm gonna take that as a compliment."

Sam was about to snap back with an angry retort, but stopped. _It was a compliment to him? _He was turning into someone else, someone who'd never gotten his way, even though he'd given everything he had.

"Listen," Sam said quietly, "I'm sorry, all right. It's been a long week. Let's cover him up and get you boys back home."

"You're gonna take us home?" Sammy asked.

"Where else are you gonna go?"

"Lawrence," Dean said, "you can drop us off at the city limits and then head back here and go on to your bright future. That way, we save gas, don't pollute the environment, and you don't have to drive as far. Deal?"

"No deal," Sam argued, "I'm taking you to Sacramento, calling the cops, and getting you both into nice homes."

"Plural?" Sammy asked, "homes? You're gonna separate us?"

Dean's hand went to the top buttons of his shirt again as his brother moved instinctively closer. "No, Sammy, we're staying together. No matter what. He's gonna drop us off in Lawrence."

"Why Lawrence?" Sam asked, taking a shovelful of dirt and dumping it into his brother's grave.

"I have my reasons. Just take us to the city limits and drop us off. Don't worry, I'll raise you right."

"You shouldn't be raising me at all. We're going back to Sacramento and that's final. Now go wait in the car."

Dean scowled. "Can I ask you a question first?"

"What?" Sam moaned, wiping the first few beads of sweat off his forehead as he dumped more dirt onto his dead brother.

"How do you think the upkeep's been at that cabin since our last visit? Is it livable?"

The older hunter glanced over at Elkins' place. "There's a couple of dead bodies inside."

"Dad already buried them. I saw the mounds of dirt as we were pulling up. Do you think the guy kept any food stored in there?"

"Maybe. I mean, I guess he would have had some. Why?"

Dean shrugged, smiling as if he had some sort secret, as something subtly evil swam under his dark hazel eyes. "No reason. Just wondering if someone would be able to live up here now, that's all."

As the boy walked away, toward the car, Sam finally understood. If he left them in Sacramento, they'd escape. They'd either go to Lawrence, or up to Manning. They'd stay together no matter what. Just the two of them.

* * *

Ooh.. Dean's plotting. Bet you can't wait for the next update, huh?


	15. Chapter 15

Yeah... I hope things go back to normal for the boys, too. What's normal? Demon hunting and motel rooms?

* * *

He could barely remember driving back through the states, could barely remember finding the right apartment and parking the car, could barely remember what had happened after he'd gotten there, just knew that the bed smelled like his brother, and because of that, he never wanted to get up.

It hadn't hit him hard until he'd gotten to the apartment, the apartment he only knew from snippets of memories he'd barely had time to acquire. It was the place his brother had decided to finally settle and create a happy family out of something so broken that most people would have given up.

Dean hadn't wanted him to go into the room, to defile that seemingly sacred place where his father had slept, and sat up with him, and cradled him when he'd broken down and cried because the other kids on the block had made fun of him. It was where his father had laughingly told him he would grow into his ears, and to ignore what the other kids said, because what did they really know anyway?

But he'd had to come into the room, and lay down on the bed, and just feel like he was home. Because Dean had made a home for him, and made sure he was always welcome there.

He rolled over on the bed, smiling at the yellow coloring of the sheets. He could remember going out to buy things for the house, and how the only queen-size sheets they'd had at Goodwill had been this sickly yellow. And their father had complained. They'd laughed for days about it.

One the dresser were two photos sitting in frames. One was of a happy family, a mother, a father, and two little boys. The other was of an even happier family. A father, and his two sons, whom he'd taken in not because he'd had to, but because he'd wanted to. And that was the most important thing of all.

Sam had wanted to come back to the apartment, not just to finally say good-bye to his brother, but to look through his stash of weapons. If he wanted to find the Colt and Jake, he would need more than what was in that trunk. He'd had to get rid of the kids, too. He couldn't risk having something happen to one of them.

Sam was about to get up off the soft bed and begin searching for the weapons when he heard something that chilled him to the bone. It sounded like a window sliding open. Footsteps on the fire escape followed.

Sam jumped to his feet and ran from the bedroom, charging down the hallways to the kids' room. Both beds were empty, and the backpacks were gone. He ran from the room and into the kitchen. The window was open, sure enough, and it led onto the fire escape.

Without wasting a minute, the hunter darted from the apartment and took the stairs two at a time. He slammed through the front doors and stopped, waiting. The boys rounded the corner, looking back over their shoulders, Dean leading his brother by the hand and smiling at his clean getaway.

He stopped smiling, however, when he ran into a very tall roadblock. The boy looked up, his eyes wide, and instinctively took a step back, pulling his brother close as he did so.

Sam just stood into the middle of the sidewalk and watched them, waiting to see what they would do. Dean broke and ran, dragging his brother along by the wrist. He got about ten feet away before a trashcan suddenly flew out of an alley in front of him, tripping him. He let go of Sammy's hand as he fell face first over the can and onto the concrete.

Sam slowly approached the kids, wondering whether or not something was in the alleyway, just waiting to jump out and attack.

"I didn't mean to," the smaller boy said as he approached, "I just got scared. He said everything would be all right, but he didn't know for sure, and I didn't want you to get mad at him."

"You did this?" Sam asked, scooping Dean's limp, slightly bloodied form from the ground.

Sammy nodded. "He's OK, right?"

"I think so. Come on, we'll take him back inside, and put you to bed. It's late."

* * *

The six-year-old looked entirely too small under the bulky covers. He stared at Sam with wide, accusing eyes.

"He'll be fine, all right?" Sam sighed, sitting at the foot of the boy's bed and trying unsuccessfully not to grin at the X-Men sheets, "you did the right thing."

"Doesn't feel like it. Dean's hurt and you don't care. You're just gonna leave tomorrow anyway."

"Look, I have something I need to do, and I can't risk taking you guys along with me."

"And when you're finished with that, will you come back and take care of us?"

"What?" Sam asked, "why would I do that?"

Sammy shrugged. "Dad did. Besides, you owe him. _He_ gave _you_ what _you_ wanted, now _you_ have to give _him_ what _he_ wants."

"The world doesn't work like that, kid."

"Well, it should. Fair is fair. Dean was gonna ask you to stay, but he thought you'd say no. He was right."

"Yeah, he's smarter than he looks, isn't he?" Sam grinned.

The little boy just rolled over, turning his back to Sam. "I don't wanna be like you," he mumbled, "I'm not gonna leave him. You can do whatever you want to us, but I'll find him, all by myself if I have to. And I'll go hunting with him. And you can't stop me."

"You're willing to give up the chance at a real family just so your brother isn't alone anymore?"

"He _is_ my real family," Sammy whispered, "and you're not gonna take him from me."

"But you have to admit," Sam said, standing up and heading out of the small bedroom, "you like it here, with a roof over your head. You had fun at camp. You've already made friends. You like sleeping in the same bed every night. You're looking forward to school in the Fall. You can't tell me you'd just give it all up because of him, because I know how much you want it. I _remember_ how much you want it. If you go with him, you'll never be happy. He might be, but you won't."

Sam closed the door behind him, plunging the tiny room with two beds crammed into it into darkness. He never heard his younger self mutter, "he doesn't have to know that."

* * *

Oh... brotherly love. So cute!


	16. Chapter 16

Get ready for an awesome (I think) brother moment. So cute.

* * *

As annoying as the kid was when he was awake, Sam had to admit that he was actually kind of cute when he was asleep. There were small scrapes across his pale forehead and thin nose, and a little blood had trickled onto the yellow bedspread Sam had laid him down on. He'd figured it would be less traumatic for the youngest boy if he didn't see the full extent of his older brother's injuries in the light of the house, so as soon as they'd gotten back inside, Dean had been whisked into his father's bedroom.

Sam stared at the little boy, at the fresh blood, at the way he lay perfectly still on top of the covers, almost as if he was dead. Standing there, staring at Dean, he saw something glitter just between the top two buttons on his shirt, where the fabric had parted and a pale little patch of skin shone through.

Slowly, the hunter approached the sleeping child and carefully undid the top two buttons of his shirt. He gasped at what he found. The little glint he'd seen had been a flash of the gold charm hanging around the boy's neck, a charm Sam could have sworn he'd seen on his dead brother when he'd lowered the body into its makeshift grave.

He picked up the charm, some sort of ancient god or goddess, long forgotten by society, and stared at it. His brother had never taken that thing off, so how'd it get around the kid's neck? Unless…

Dean's eyes flew open and he swatted Sam's hand away, grabbing at the necklace that hung around his neck and scurrying away from the older hunter before the man could even react.

"What are doing, you pervert?" the kid demanded.

"Where'd you get that necklace?" Sam asked, struggling to slow his racing heart.

"I asked you first."

"My question answers your question."

"Does not," Dean scoffed, buttoning up his shirt and tucking the necklace back under it.

"Does, too."

"Does not."

"Does… Dean, just answer the question."

"Dad gave it to me, all right? Man, what's with the third degree?"

"When did he give it to you?" Sam asked, watching the kid closely.

Dean shrugged. "I dunno. Before he left for Manning, I guess. It was before he dropped us off at camp."

"You're positive?"

"Yes. Why?"

Sam shook his head. "No reason. Just could have sworn I'd seen it on the corpse."

"Well, it wasn't," Dean muttered, averting his eyes, "and what do you care, anyway? It's not like it matters. It's just a stupid necklace."

Sam nodded. "You're right. Now, listen, kid, about what happened-"

"He already told me, right before my graceful face-plant. Look, if you want to yell at me about running away, at least close the door first. I'd hate for that kid to knock a trashcan under my feet for nothing. Let him think he did good, OK?"

"I'm not gonna yell at you," Sam smiled, though the idea had been tempting at first, "and I can't really blame you. I'd go to extremes to protect something I wanted that bad, too, but you need to be more careful. It's a dangerous world out there, especially for a couple of kids."

"We can take care of ourselves," Dean grinned, "I mean, did you _see_ the way that trashcan flew?"

Sam sighed, sitting down on the bed beside the boy. "I know how much family means to you-"

"No you don't. You have no idea. If you knew, you wouldn't have tried to change things."

"And if you'd seen yourself, you would have _begged_ me to."

"At least I wasn't _crazy_ when dad was around."

He had a point. "Hey," Sam sighed, trying to wrap a comforting arm around the boy, "I know you miss him. I do, too. But you'll get over it, it just takes time." He tried to pull the kid close, to offer a little warmth and love, but found resistance.

Dean shrugged the older man's arm off. "Stop it. You're not him. You don't wanna be. You just want to go home to that normal family. So go already."

"I'm not leaving yet. I need to get that gun back from Jake. I need to end this mess, once and for all."

"So, you're leaving tomorrow, then? You'll just be gone when we wake up and the cops'll take us away?"

Sam nodded, noticing the way the boy clutched at the pendant around his neck. "That's the plan."

"Well," Dean said, perking up and plastering that familiar smirk across his young face, "how about making a new one, Sammy? Why not let us come along with you, like one last family hunt?"

"What if something happened to you? And my name's Sam."

Dean shrugged. "What happens, happens. Come on, it'll be fun. Like a road trip."

Sam looked at the boy, at eyes full of hope, and realized something. Since the age of four, hunting was all Dean had known. He couldn't remember ever being normal, had been forced into it by someone that had promised him everything he'd ever dreamed of. But had he really gotten _everything_? Or was a family just the tip of the iceberg?

"We'll be fine," Dean added, "like I said, we can take care of ourselves."

"Maybe," Sam sighed, shaking his head, "I guess it would be all right. But you've gotta listen to me. No hero business, all right? You do what I tell you to, when I tell you to, go it?"

"Yes, sir," Dean nodded, a large smile spreading across his face.

"Good," the hunter replied, a little offended at being addressed the same way his biological father always had, "now, can I trust you to go to bed and actually stay there?"

"Of course," Dean smirked, sliding off the bed, "and, Sammy?"

"It's Sam. What?"

"I think this is the beginning of a beautiful friendship." Still smirking, Dean left the room, closing the door silently behind him and leaving Sam alone with his thoughts.

The kid was up to something, that was for sure. But that wasn't the only thing bothering Sam as he laid back on the sickly yellow sheets ('demon's eye yellow,' his father had called it as the cashier at Goodwill had sniggered over the color). Was it possible that Dean actually _liked_ hunting? That, because he knew nothing else, he was doomed to root out and destroy evil for his entire life or be driven insane by the urge to kill?

He closed his eyes, trying to imagine what it must have been like to blindly follow orders most of your life, to slowly come to love killing, to want nothing more than to have a family that would join you on an impossible quest.

These thoughts filled his head as two boys, just down the hall, talked about the coming adventure, and Sam drifted slowly off to sleep on sheets smelling of his dead brother's cologne.

* * *

Yellow sheets. As Dean sat on his new father's bed, he still couldn't believe that the man had bought yellow sheets. What kind of pussy was he gonna grow up to be, settling for yellow?

It didn't matter, though, not in the long run, because he was finally going to get what he wanted. Nice motel rooms for him, his brother, and his father. And this time, daddy wouldn't leave for weeks at a time. No, this time, Sammy and Dean would be part of the hunt.

The ten-year-old had really only been out once, and John had torn him a new one for no apparent reason. Still, it had been fun. A kind of twisted bonding experience, boy and dad, together, hunting evil. And the thrill of the hunt, the kill, the scream that the banshee had let rip forth when John's well-aimed bullet pierced her heart? Well, that had been his next-favorite part.

Family and hunting, the two things Dean valued most in the world, and they were finally coming together for him.

His father had told him after dinner to wait in the poorly furnished bedroom because they needed to have a talk. It had sounded important, so here he sat, marveling at his own poor taste in sheets and thinking back to his first hunt.

The door opened, and the leather jacket clad savior of the brothers Winchester walked in, wrinkling his nose at the sheets. "I swear," he muttered, sitting down next to his new son, "as soon as we get some cash, I'm totally redecorating."

Dean grinned. "I think it's cute. Besides, it's… different. And different's good, right?"

His father sighed. "Actually, kid, that's what I wanted to talk to you about. You know your brother wants to be like everyone else, right?"

"Yeah. So?"

"So, it's not too easy to be normal when your brother and dad go chasing ghosts every weekend, is it?"

"Are you saying we can't hunt anymore?"

"It's not forever. Just until he's out of the house, off at college. Then, maybe, if you still want to, we can go out every once in a while. I know how much you want to do this, but the demon's dead, and that's the important thing. Everything else will have to wait."

"What about after we get settled in?" Dean asked, "then can we go out and hunt?"

"Sure thing," his dad grinned, "if we ever get settled in, we can see about taking a little vacation, like a road trip or something. Sound good?"

"Sounds great. But, what are you gonna do until then?"

"I'm gonna man up and get a job. And you and your brother are going to go to school, and maybe camp this summer. There's something I need to take care of back in Manning."

"Why can't I come?"

"Are you kidding? It'd be no fun. Trust me, you're much better off at camp."

"You'll come back?"

The older man's heart melted. "Hey, I told you already, didn't I? As long as I'm around, you'll never have to be alone again. I'll come back, I promise. And we'll go hunting again someday, but for right now, we just have to give some things up for Sammy. He'll thanks us later."

Dean grinned. "He'd better."

* * *

His eyes didn't open. He didn't sit up. He could sense the presence in the room, the six-year-old boy who'd somehow known what Sam was going to see in his dreams on that clear June night.

"You owe him everything," Sammy whispered as he walked out of the room, closing the door behind him, "and it's time to pay up."

Sam didn't move, just lay as still as possible in the old bed. He'd been right. His brother was a natural-born hunter.

Dean had been right, too. It's hard to be normal when your only family members hunt ghosts for a living.

He'd have time to worry about that later, though. He had a long day ahead of him, driving himself and two kids right into the heart of danger. Of course, they'd have to actually _find_ Jake before they could confront him, and that wasn't exactly going to be a walk in the park without the miracle of GPS to help them out.

* * *

Definitely one of my favorite chapters. What did you guys think? 


	17. Chapter 17

Yes, twists... my specialty? Snywho, thanks again (for the thousandth time) to everyone who's taken the time and effort to read and review. I know how hard it can be to come up with nice things to say!

* * *

"You're sure?" Sam asked again as he and the two boys tossed everything they'd packed into the Impala's trunk.

"Positive," Sammy smiled, "he's back with his family, waiting for the Big Bad to show up and take the gun from him. He didn't want the real Jake's family to get suspicious."

"How do you know that?"

The boy shrugged. "I dunno. I saw it this morning before breakfast. They were eating, too. Toast and eggs."

"I'd believe him if I were you," Dean said, sliding into the car's backseat with his brother, "he's usually freakishly right about these things."

"It's not that I don't believe him," Sam clarified, "because that would be sort of like not believing in myself. I'm just saying that I don't quite understand how he could possibly know that Jake's in Hamlet Nebraska with his family. Was it a vision?"

Dean shook his head. "Nebraska's an hour ahead of us. Visions take place before the actual event, and usually foretell death. This was something different. Have you ever heard of remote viewing? It started happening to him right before we went to camp. Dad was looking into it."

"Yeah, I've heard of it, I just don't remember being able to do it."

"Repression. You didn't _want_ to remember, so you blocked it out."

"Thank you, Professor Einstein," Sam muttered, climbing into the car and starting the engine.

"Repression was _Freud_, idiot," Dean shot back, "man, even _Sammy_ knows that."

* * *

It was quiet. Too quiet.

The group had stopped for a late lunch around the time they'd reached the California-Nevada border, and they'd only stopped twice since. The radio had been on the majority of the drive, tuned into the kinds of stations that should always be played in old muscle cars. Lots of AC/DC and Led Zeppelin.

For a while, little voices could be heard over the drone of the music, playing license plate Bingo without cards, then asking if they were there yet, then blending in perfect harmony on the song that gets on everybody's nerves. How his brother had managed for a month, Sam would never know.

Now, however, as the sun began its long, slow dip below the horizon and the desert flew by beyond the windows, there was only silence in the backseat. Sam chanced a glance and found the brothers asleep sitting up, leaning on each other. It was a Kodak Moment if he'd ever seen one.

For a brief moment, Sam was hampered by such a flow of love and sadness that he was tempted to pull the car over and just have a good cry. His brother should have been there, should have been able to see how much love those two children had for each other, how willing they were to stay together after everything that had happened in their young lives. But he wasn't, and that just didn't seem fair.

"But he's not gone," Sam whispered to himself as he turned back to the road, "he'll be there when I get back, nice, and happy, and normal. I'm gonna make sure of that."

With that simple resolve, he pulled into a small roadside town and began searching for a decent motel.

* * *

His hand hadn't been cuffed to the headboard, and for that, Sam was thankful. The warm lump snuggled under the covers beside him, however, was a bit disturbing. He glanced over at the room's other bed, and only saw one body under the thick covers. It was too tall to be Sammy.

"What?" Sam moaned, sitting up and looking at the shaking boy that had, hours before, been asleep soundly beside his older brother.

"I had a nightmare," Sammy whispered, "you died."

Sam gulped, glancing over at Dean again. "How?" he asked in a hushed voice.

"There was a lot of blood," the boy replied, snuggling closer, "all over the place. We were in a white house, and you were pinned to the wall, and you were dead. Someone was laughing," he looked over his shoulder at his sleeping brother and dropped his voice to an even softer whisper, "he said it was perfect, what had happened to you."

"Who was it?" Sam asked.

Sammy shrugged, pulling away a little and wiping his streaming eyes. "I dunno."

"Yeah you do. It was him, wasn't it? It was Dean."

"Don't be mad. It's not his fault," Sammy whispered, snuggling up against the adult again, as if trying to become part of him, "it was never his fault. It was mine. All my fault. I could have stopped it. I could have saved him."

"Who, Dean? Sammy, there's nothing wrong with him. He's fine. Maybe a bit demented, but I'm sure he'll grow out of that. You're a little freaked right now, it's late, and maybe you don't know what you saw."

"Not tonight. Before dad left. I… I could have stopped it. I should have said something, but I didn't think it was him. I thought it was me and Dean, having a fight, and I thought I would never let it happen. I didn't know you were coming back, and I didn't know dad was going to die. I mean, I knew, but I thought it was Dean. I thought it was gonna happen a long time from now, when we're grown-ups. I didn't know it was dad."

Sam's eyes were wide in the dark room. "You saw his death? And you didn't tell him?"

"I thought it was Dean," Sammy sobbed.

"That's why you're willing to give up everything for him now. That's why you're telling me that I should be nicer to him. You feel guilty, don't you? Kid, it wasn't your fault, and your brother's gonna be just fine without you. You need to believe that."

"_I_ can't until _he_ does. He needs me, like he needed dad. Like he needed John. I killed them both, and now Dean's all messed up. He's gonna let you die, and he's gonna _laugh_ about it."

Sam nodded, wrapping his arms around his younger self and sighing heavily. "Because without me around, he won't have to worry about the two of you getting split up. Listen to me, all right? This isn't your fault. If it's anyone's mess, it's mine, and now I've just gotta find a way to clean it up."

"Are you gonna stay with us?" Sammy asked.

"No. I can't do that. It would just make things worse."

"Dean doesn't think so."

"Dean's a little messed up right now, you said so yourself. Trust me here, Sammy, I'll get you a family, and I'll get Dean the help he needs."

"_You_ need to trust _me,_" Sammy whispered, "he's not gonna let you do that. Not in any time period. And I'm gonna help him this time, I'm gonna believe in him, and back him up, just like dad did. I'm gonna be the family he wants, whether you like it or not."

"You're not going to be happy, kid. Just let him be. He'll end up where he ends up, and there's no way we can help him."

"Don't you feel just a little bit bad? He went crazy! He killed your wife, and Missouri, and Caleb, and that cop, but he would never kill _you_. Not until now. You turned him into something that we hunt. You made him a monster, and I'm gonna fix him."

"You can't fix people, Sammy, not like you fix a broken toy, or a car. It just doesn't work that way!"

"I'll make it work. I can do things you wouldn't believe, and I'll make it work. Put him in a hospital or a jail if you want, but I can break him out, all by myself. I'm gonna make it up to him, no matter what."

Sam sighed. "Look, I'll find a way to fix this, I swear. I just need the gun. I'll figure something out, and I won't get myself killed doing it. That's a promise."

"I hope you break it," Sammy hissed, sliding off of Sam's bed and climbing into his own, where he burrowed under the covers and snuggled up to his still-sleeping brother.

Sam settled back in his own bed, deeply unnerved. He'd always believed that Dean cared too much to actually kill him, and had been proven right in Manning. But what if there were two of him, an adult that threatened to take the only family Dean had left, and the brother he knew and loved? Who would win out?

It brought up a new question, an extension of the one he'd found himself pondering in the many motels he'd shared with his psychotic brother. Was Dean capable of murder, and, if so, was Dean capable of murdering _him_?


	18. Chapter 18

Well, another day, another chapter. Enjoy!

* * *

"Are we there yet?" Dean asked for the hundredth time as Utah grew increasingly closer.

"Does it look like we're there?" Sam shot back, gripping the steering wheel hard enough that his knuckles turned white. If there was anyone in the world who could get under his skin and push his buttons, it was Dean.

"Dunno. I've never been to Nebraska."

"Well," Sam sighed, "there are lots of cows, some corn, and the occasional reaper."

"How many more states?"

"Once we're out of Nevada, we have to go through Utah, then Colorado, then we'll be in Nebraska."

"Then you'll go _back_ to Colorado?"

Sam nodded. "Honestly, man, how many times do I have to tell you that?"

Dean shrugged. "Maybe five more. It just seems so stupid. You'll just keep driving through the same state, over and over again. What's the point? Why not let someone else take care of Jake? Like Caleb? I'm sure he could handle it."

"Caleb couldn't even handle _you_," Sam muttered, "what makes you think he can take on a demon with a gun that can kill anything?"

"What?"

"I said," Sam lied, loud enough for both boys to hear, "that he's probably busy. Now, why don't you stop bugging me and play a game with your little brother?"

"What kind of game?" Dean asked.

"I don't know. 'I Spy,' or something."

Dean nodded, a wide grin spreading across his face. "OK. Hey, Sammy, I spy with my little eye…something tall and jerky."

Sammy giggled. "Is it me in 17 years?"

"All right!" Dean exclaimed, "you got it! High five! Now it's your turn."

"All right," the younger said slowly, scrunching up his face in concentration, "I spy with my little eye…something that needs a haircut."

"Is it you in 17 years?"

Sammy nodded. "Yep. Your turn again, Dean!"

Sam moaned deep in his throat, sliding down in his seat and closing his eyes as the desert landscape flew past outside. It was going to be a _very_ long ride.

* * *

Birds chirped outside the Colorado motel room as Sam watched his younger self run around the playground across the street, laughing and making friends with some of the inhabitants of the small town. They were getting closer to Hamlet, and (hopefully) Sam's final confrontation with the demons that had taken his mother, girlfriend, father, and brother away from him.

Behind him, Dean was flipping channels on the old black and white TV. The picture was fuzzy, and the static echoed across the small room.

"There's never anything on in the middle of the day," Dean complained, switching off the old setting and walking up beside the older man, "what're you doing?"

"Watching myself swing."

"Oh."

"Hey, why aren't you out there with him?"

Dean shrugged. "It's just across the street. Besides, you're watching him. He'll be fine."

"That's not what I meant," Sam clarified, "why aren't you out there _playing_ with him?"

"Dude," Dean snorted, "I'm ten."

"So? There are kids who look older than you out there. Go play."

"I'd rather stay in here and bug you."

Sam sighed, closing the curtains and stepping away from the window. "You know," he muttered, sitting down on one of the beds and rubbing his eyes, "you _are_ allowed to have fun. What's more fun than a playground?"

Dean smirked. "A circus. With _lots_ of clowns."

"You just won't let me live that down, will you?"

"Nope." The boy sat down beside him, twiddling his fingers.

Sam stared at him. "You all right? You look kind of nervous or scared or something."

"Are you kidding me? I'm not afraid of _anything._"

"Except flying."

The boy shrugged. "Well, there's that…"

Sam sighed again. "You don't like me very much, do you?"

"What made you think that?"

"I dunno. You just seem kind of distant."

"Well maybe I just don't wanna get attached, did you ever think of that?"

"You can't just live your life without forming any bonds with anyone. It'll make you crazy."

"No, duh, genius. Isn't that why you're here?"

"Oh." Sam's face fell, "yeah, I guess it is."

The room fell silent as the two sat on the bed, staring off into space and thinking about what lie ahead. The future wasn't looking too bright, and it seemed like nothing either brother did could change that.

_The kid was right_, Sam thought, glancing back down at Dean, who was staring at his hands, _we can't both be happy. It has to be one or the other, and it's never him._

"Hey," Dean finally spoke up, his voice nervous, "can I ask you something important?"

"Sure thing. Shoot."

The boy breathed deeply, steadying himself. "Can you help me? Can you teach me to be normal, like everyone else?"

"What? Why?"

"I just figure, I dunno, if they separated us before because they thought I was crazy… maybe if I act normal, they'll let us stay together. I swear, I'll let you have that home and that family and the job and everything, just teach me to be like everyone else."

"Dean," Sam grinned nervously, "I can't do that."

"Please," Dean begged, "I'll do anything you want me to. I'll give you _anything_, just don't let them take him. Don't let him leave me."

It took the older hunter a few seconds before he remembered where he'd heard those words before, and the recognition startled him. He jumped off the bed, eyeing the ten-year-old suspiciously, as if he might suddenly snap and attack (and for all Sam knew, he might).

"What?" Dean asked, concerned, "what is it? Can you help me, or not?"

Sam just shook his head. "I think it's too late for that. Now, go outside and keep an eye on your brother. I have to think."

Hurt written all over his freckled face, Dean trudged out of the room, leaving Sam alone with his thoughts. The kid was bound and determined to keep what was left of his family together, and there was nothing Sam could do about that. He suddenly understood something, had come to terms with it since the boy had said he'd do anything to keep his little brother.

Sam stood up and walked to the window, pulling back to curtains and looking out at the playground. Sammy had joined a group of kids in playing Duck, Duck, Goose. Dean was sitting on a near-by bench watching them, obviously itching to be included, but knowing due to previous attempts that he'd be shunned. He always had been, always would be. It was a fact of his life that he had become accustomed to.

But, as he sat and watched, he was also thinking, that much Sam could see from the confines of the motel room. It only confirmed his fears. When that demon attacked, leaving him bloodied and battered on the floor, Dean was just going to laugh, ensuring more time with what little family he had left.

Sam knew, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that he was going to die.


	19. Chapter 19

Ooh... another long chapter. Just what you've all been waiting for, right?

* * *

"You ready for this?" Sam asked as he killed the Impala's engine about a block away from Jake's house. Two little heads popped up in the back seat, nodding in agreement. Dean was paler than he should have been though. He thought it was the end of the road, and for Sam, it probably was. "All right."

He opened the door and swung his long legs out of the car. It had taken a whole day to come to terms with what was to happen, and he still wasn't completely happy with the idea. But maybe his death was the single even that could set things right, straighten out the timeline, and keep a great number of very disturbing events from happening. At least, that was what Sam hoped.

The group, two children and an incredibly lanky adult, approached the door of the pristine white house. It was a nice middle-class neighborhood, with kids running around and playing. A couple strolled by on the sidewalk, with no idea of the horrors that were about to take place.

Sam reached out a hand and knocked on the door. Both boys looked up at him expectantly as the door was wrenched open to reveal a young woman with long red hair and startling blue eyes.

"Can I help you?" the woman asked.

"We're looking for Jake," Sam explained, smiling reassuringly, "there's something we need to talk to him about. It's kind of important."

"Oh," the woman said, looking them up and down, "right. You must be Jakey's friends. The ones with the sleep-over, right? I just knew he'd leave something behind. Hang on, he'll be right out."

The door closed as she went back into the house, calling for Jake. Sam and Dean looked at each other, shocked.

"Sleep-over?" Sam asked.

"_Jakey_?" Dean questioned, cocking an eyebrow in confusion.

"I _told_ you," Sammy sighed, "he didn't want his family to get suspicious when he went after the gun, so he had to wait and come back from the future. If the eleven-year-old had gone missing, people would have looked for him, and that would have made the demon mad."

"So, Jake comes back, steals the gun, then hands it off to himself for safe keeping, and hightails it back to '06?" Sam asked. The little boy nodded. "This job just got a lot tougher. We can't kill an innocent little kid."

"Even if he's gonna grow up to be a murderer?" Dean pointed out.

"If I kill him, he won't become that murderer," Sam argued, "my brother won't die, and the timeline would just be screwed to Hell."

"But dad would be alive. Wouldn't that make things right again?"

"Dean," Sam began, his head beginning to ache as he attempted to wrap his mind around the complicated concept of time travel. He was saved another fight, though, as the door opened to reveal a little boy with dark hair and the brightest blue eyes Sam had ever seen. "Jake?"

The kid looked up at him, a wicked grin spreading across a face to young to reveal such malice. "I've been waiting for you," he hissed, his eyes turning from peaceful blue to pitiless black, "I was wondering when you'd come play with me. Come on in."

"We'd rather stand out here," Sam said defiantly, staring down the preteen.

"Don't be such a worry wart, man," Jake smiled, "come on in, take a load off. There's a lot we need to talk about. If it's the family you're worried about, don't be. I've dealt with them. Mommy, daddy, and little sis. They're all dead in their beds. They didn't even scream. Just like your brother, unless I'm mistaken."

Grunting audibly, Sam pushed past the boy and walked into a neatly furnished home, the kids at his heels, both glaring at the demon. "You said you'd been waiting," he began, plopping down on a blood-stained couch and eyeing the demon, "why?"

"The final showdown, of course," the boy grinned, "we need to break up this family. I thought I had. That was the plan the whole time, ever since my father followed you through that wormhole. He followed your brother, and I joined him eventually. We kept track of everyone you saved that should have died, and when you wound up in your new, brighter future, we started killing them."

"_You_ did that?" Sam asked, sitting up straight and locking eyes with the demon, who never stopped grinning.

"We had to make you think you'd messed everything up. We had to make you think it was destiny for some people to die. We needed a way to get you back here, Sam, otherwise this whole plan wouldn't have worked. We convinced you that your lovely Jess would die, and we made you come back to save her. It almost worked, too. We had the gun, you'd almost completely lost those abilities of yours, and your brother was a continent away, slowly rotting in his own misery.

"But you just couldn't handle that, could you? You had to save him, too. Now look where you are, stuck in the middle of the Cornhusker state with two whiny kids and demon. Lucky you."

"Why are you telling me this?"

"I want you to realize what you've done before you die, Sam. I want you to realize that, because of you, these two charming boys are going to be separated. I'll make sure of that. Little you is going to be spending some quality time with my father once big you is out of the way. And Dean? Well, father's got some friends in high places, and the little psycho's going to get the help he truly deserves until we can break him enough to use him as a host. He won't put up too much of as fight once we're through with him, I can guarantee that."

"That's not what I meant," Sam smiled, "I guess I should have asked why you were spending so much time talking while the psychic six-year-old has a gun that can kill anything trained at the back of your head. Care to answer?"

Jake swallowed hard, turning around, but didn't find a gun. He spun quickly, realizing he'd been fooled, but was too slow. Sam was on him, pushing his face into the carpet, before the demon could really react.

The black eyes shone brightly for a moment as Jake screamed, expelling the demon within into the pristine house, where it quickly sped out the door in a whirl of black smoke.

The little boy on the floor coughed and sputtered weakly. "It's coming," he whispered, "it's coming." His eyes, once again ocean-blue, closed as he passed out on the floor.

Sam climbed off the boy, looking around the room as the lights began to flicker and the wind outside picked up. "It's here," he whispered as he felt himself being thrown across the room to connect with the wall.

* * *

He hadn't remembered the room going dark, could just barely recollect flying across the room. He was standing up… no, wait, he was pinned. Pinned to the wall by some unseen force, something holding him in place.

Sam looked around the room. He was still in Jake's house, and the unconscious boy was sprawled out on the floor. Sammy and Dean were sitting on the couch, huddled together, talking in hushed voices.

"Come on, Sammy," Dean was saying, his voice low, "we'll just leave him here and go. He'll never know. He'll never find us."

"Dean," Sam moaned, "it's still here. I'm still pinned. You've gotta find it."

"We'll never have to do what he says again," Dean continued, ignoring the older man, "we won't have to listen. Even better, we can be together. We can be a real family again."

"Dean," Sam said, louder than before, assuming the boy hadn't heard, "_Dean!_"

The ten-year-old turned his head to face Sam. "Shh," he cautioned, eyes glinting yellow in the low lamplight of the room, "it isn't nice to interrupt."

"You," Sam gasped as Dean slid off the couch.

"Me," the demon smirked with its stolen mouth.

"Get out of him. You leave him out of this."

"Oh, but Sammy," it hissed, "he's a _big_ part of this, maybe even bigger than you think. His whole future depends on you and your choices. Why, just think, if you'd killed Jake when it was still justifiable, dear old daddy might have popped back to life to whisk the family off the happily-ever-after."

"How long? How long have you been inside him?"

"Since about six this morning. Let me tell you, you people really need to lock your doors." Smiling, the demon walked slowly over to Jake and reached under the boy's shirt. It pulled out the Colt, and, turning the gun over in its hands, stalked over to Sam. "It's about time I came and got this."

"Shoot me if you want, but you'll never get your little psychic killer. Dean won't let you. He'll fight."

To Sam's surprise, the demon actually started laughing. "You wanna know a little secret, _future boy_?" it asked, standing on tiptoes and still coming up about two feet short of Sam's chin, "if this kid wanted me gone, I'd be gone by now. He's not struggling, just sitting back inside his head and crying. He's _begging_ me to kill you. To tell the truth, Sammy, the kid _wants_ you dead. And even if he didn't, it's not like there's any fight left in him, anyway. You beat it out of him, all by yourself. You should be proud. You reduced the amount of work I'll have to do myself. Thanks a ton."

Sam smirked. "You know, I always figured you were kind of a weak little thing, only going after women and babies. But to not even be able to handle a messed-up little kid like Dean by yourself? I think I overestimated you."

The demon's eyes glinted with the same sort of subtle malice that had shown in Dean's before he'd truly snapped. Suddenly, Sam was afraid. He'd known the demon was going to try and kill him, and had actually started to trick himself into thinking that maybe that needed to happen. After all, with him out of the way, Dean would finally get the chance to be happy.

However, it had never occurred to him that the sound of Dean laughing in Sammy's late-night vision meant that the older boy was possessed. That simple fact changed everything.

Before he even had a chance to beg for his life, pain shot through Sam's system as invisible claws began tearing at his stomach, searing his flesh. "Please," he shouted, struggling to speak over the darkness that threatened to take him, "Dean, you have to fight it. It doesn't have to end like this."

As suddenly as it had started, the pain stopped. Sam let his head droop down onto his chest as the demon stared at him, blinking more than it should have as the little boy inside fought for control.

"That's right, kid," Sam whispered, smiling unsteadily as he watched the silent battle, "you can do it. I have faith in you."

Dean looked up at him, and it was actually _Dean_. No yellow eyes, no malicious smirk. "Sammy?" he asked uncertainly.

"It's-" Sam began, but stopped, "yeah. Yeah. Everything's gonna be all right now. You just hold onto it, and put the gun down."

"This gun?" Dean asked, looking curiously at the Colt in his hand. Sam nodded. "Why? You think I'm gonna shoot you or something?"

"I know you'd never do that."

Dean smirked. "The kid wouldn't," he replied coldly, his eyes turning a sickening shade of yellow, "but I just might. Boy, I really had you going there, didn't I, Sammy boy? You should have seen the look on your face, like your savior had come." It stepped back up to him, eyes shining. "You really should know better. This boy… he's broken. _You_ broke him. Why would he fight for your miserable life?"

Sam hung his head again as the demon stepped back, inspecting the weapon it held in Dean's hands. The pain started again, scratching across the hunter's stomach and sending blood cascading down the front of his shirt. Darkness again crowded his vision as he looked up, realizing for the first time that someone had been missing from their conversation. _Sammy._

The six-year-old was still sitting on the couch, watching the events unfold with wide-eyed terror.

_It's not him_, Sam thought, his mind beginning to drift, hoping that the kid could read him, _it's not. Don't be afraid to hurt him, to fight him. You don't owe it anything._

The little boy just averted his eyes as pain continued to worm its way into Sam's very being, taking him over and making him lose control. He couldn't think anymore, didn't want to feel. And those _eyes_, yellow and horrible, boring into him, telling him of the many secrets buried just beyond his brother's sarcastic wit.

Blood began to fill his mouth, dribbling from his chin as the demon watched, grinning, just waiting for the moment it could take it's intended target and run into some black hole to train him, making him something evil. And Sammy wouldn't resist, the demon knew that for a fact, not while he felt guilty for what Dean's future might hold. Finally, the brothers would be together, both turning slowly into something inhuman.

Sam's breathing shallowed as his head fell to the side and his eyes began to slide closed. He'd failed himself. Even worse, he'd failed his brother. There was no brighter future out there for them, just pain, misery, and death.

And then the pain stopped. The world seemed to move in slow motion as Sam struggled to raise his head. Dean was screaming, a terrible, unearthly, high-pitched shriek that filled the empty house as something evil tried to hold onto him, to drag him even farther into the pits of Hell than he already was.

A cloud of black vapor suddenly flew from the boy's mouth and up over his head, back toward the door. The wind in the room picked up as all of the lights flickered and went out. The demon was thrown from the home and the front door slammed shut behind it, the noise echoing through the room as Dean's body slumped and fell to the floor.

Sam felt whatever hold the demon had had on him slacken and finally dissolve as he fell to the floor. Dean weakly raised his head and looked around the room, his eyes darting nervously over Sam's near-unconscious form.

"Sammy," he whispered weakly, "come here." His little brother obeyed, slipping off the couched and walking cautiously forward. "Listen. Go into the kitchen and find some salt, all right?"

"What if I can't?" Sammy asked, kneeling beside his fallen sibling.

Dean eased himself up onto his knees. "What kind of house doesn't have salt? You'll find it, and when you do, I need you to spread it everywhere, all right? Doors, windows, even the fireplace. You got that?"

Sammy nodded and stood up, glancing over his shoulder once before running to the kitchen. Dean stood up, too, looming ominously over Sam's broken body. "Oh, man," the boy muttered breathlessly, "you've lost a lot of blood."

Sam looked up at him, a little kid with scared eyes and a heart of gold. "Help, please," he choked. Dean stared at him for a second, thinking, the wheels in his head visibly turning as he considered everything the demon had said, everything he'd been thinking over the past few days. Slowly, he began to back away, shaking his head ever-so-slightly, as Sam's vision blurred and the hunter plunged into the darkness of unconsciousness. He was positive he would never open his eyes again.

* * *

Well, that can't be good, can it? 


	20. Chapter 20

All right, guys. One more chapter after this one, then the "Doors" trilogy is done. Phew!

* * *

He must have been in Heaven. That was Sam Winchester's only thought as he sat up, his stomach still aching from the demon's heavy blows. Sun shone in through the stained glass windows, bathing the pristine white room in a rainbow of beautiful colors. He looked around.

Funny. Sam had always imagined that if he was the last in his family to die, that they'd all be there to meet him. But, no dad, no mom, no Jess. Not even Dean.

Slowly, he slid off the bed he'd been laying on, the cool white carpet feeling good on his bare feet. He was dressed in a white t-shirt and light blue pajama pants, the kind of thing they always made you wear in hospitals. Wherever he was, though, Sam was sure it wasn't a hospital.

"Hello?" he croaked, his throat dry and sore, "anyone?"

From somewhere behind him, a door opened, its hinges squealing slightly. Sam turned, suddenly positive that he was, in fact, dead.

"Jim?" he asked, looking the deceased pastor up and down as the man entered the room.

"It's good to see you're up," Jim smiled, "you gave those boys quite a scare there, Sam."

"What?" Sam asked, suddenly realizing that something was definitely different about Jim Murphy. His hair was darker, and the lines of age that had, in later years, surrounded his soft eyes were gone.

"It's OK," the pastor reassured, "Sammy told me everything. Him, and your brother, anyway. I mean, I was shocked when your brother told me that story two months ago, even more surprised that he pulled off the whole 'long-lost-uncle' bit with only minimal suspicion. But I must say, I never imagined I'd see _you_ back here. You grew up nice. Your dad would be proud."

Sam shook his head in disbelief. "I'm not dead?"

"No, but you came close. If Dean hadn't called from that house in Nebraska when he did, you'd have been a goner for sure. You're just lucky that I have a nurse friend out there. She stopped by, stitched you up, and then I drove out and got you."

"Dean-?"

Jim nodded. "If it weren't for him, Sam, you'd be dead right now. That boy saved your life."

Sam's heart melted. The kid had had a chance to get rid of him once and for all, and hadn't. It didn't seem possible that he could grow up into a crazy murderer. "Where are they?" he asked, "the kids? Are they here?"

"Sammy's in the den, watching TV and coloring. Dean's in the chapel. If I were you, I'd go thank him."

"I'll do that," Sam smiled nervously, trudging out of the room and heading for the chapel. He passed the doorway to the den on his way, but didn't stop. He wasn't much in the mood to get yelled at by his six-year-old self.

If he had gone in, though, he would have found Sammy laying out on the floor, green crayon in one hand, and a large smile planted on his young face. He was drawing a picture he never thought he'd get to make, one of a very happy family, one that would stick together through thick and thin. Two boys, both smiling, and their freakishly tall uncle, who, out of the goodness of his seemingly-cold heart, had opted to adopt them both.

* * *

Sam stood in the doorway to the chapel, watching the ten-year-old that was slumped over in one of the pews, hands clasped in prayer, grasping the amulet he'd stolen from a corpse, crying.

"Please," the boy whispered, "I know I've asked for a lot. I wanted a little brother, and then I wanted mom back. I wanted John to come to the motels and stay there with us. I wanted a real dad. You actually gave me that, but then You took him away. Just, please, let me keep what I've got left. Sammy's all I got, and I think I deserve to keep him. I saved him, after all. He owes me his life now. Right?"

There was no reply, no wind blowing ominously through the church, no flies or frogs or locusts, just a little boy sitting alone in a pew and crying over spilt blood and lost dreams.

Finally, after waiting almost five minutes for something, _anything_, to happen, Dean gave up. Sighing, he slipped the necklace back on and sat up straight, wiping at his eyes but finding himself unable to stop the flood of tears. He'd been holding back too long, just trying to be strong for Sammy, who would probably just end up abandoning him anyway.

He didn't hear the footsteps walking down the aisle, didn't look up as Sam sat down beside him. He didn't care what the older man thought of him anymore, just wanted one last chance to be a kid and actually _cry._

Dean didn't fight this time when Sam wrapped his arm around the boy's small shoulder's, didn't resist as he was pulled into a warm embrace. Sam didn't let go, even when his still-tender stomach cried out in protest. The kid was right. He owed his life, three times over.

Dean climbed onto his lap, still sobbing, and buried his head in the white t-shirt. Sam laid his chin on the boy's head and knew what he had to do.

It was time to pay up.

* * *

All right. Almost done. What do you guys think, huh? Anxious for the final chapter. Wanna know what Sam REALLY decides to do? 


	21. Chapter 21

Hmm... a sequel? No plans for that. I'm pretty sure this is the end of the line for the series (though there is this one idea...).

* * *

**Seventeen years later**

Lake Moore, New York

Samuel Moore, now forty years old, checked the side view mirror of the old Impala for what seemed like the three-hundredth time that morning. Whatever was keeping his oldest son couldn't possibly be as important as the skin walker in east Texas.

Sighing, Sam sat back, closing his eyes against the bright morning sun and thinking back, as he often did when he was alone. He'd taken his girlfriend's last name, had figured that she wouldn't mind and had known that she would never find out. He wasn't going to let her. As much as he'd loved Jessica, he couldn't sit back and watch himself go through the pain of losing her again.

So, he'd chosen a new name, had left Blue Earth, and started a new life by breaking some very big laws and making Dean forge his own signature. He got custody of the kids easily enough, and they settled down in Kansas. Lawrence, to be exact.

As much as Sammy had wanted to be normal, he'd also wanted to be able to protect what he had left, and that had meant a move. He needed some sort of training to control those ever-growing abilities, and Sam had been clueless. He'd knocked on Missouri Mosley's door, assuming she could help. She'd been happy to oblige, and had taken quite a liking to Dean, for obvious, telepathic reasons.

But the question had still remained. How do you reign in those incredible psychic powers while still appearing to be normal? The answer had been Sam's idea, a way to give Dean everything he needed and deserved. That family bonding time and the thrill of the hunt, along with a proper education. It hadn't been easy, but it had been worked out.

School during the week, then Sam would take his oldest boy and head off into danger, leaving Sammy with Missouri for 'training.' Surprisingly, that had worked quite well, up until the time Dean had graduated.

He'd been itching to get out in the field full-time, saving people and hunting things as a profession, but he hadn't told a soul. Sammy still needed a home, and the family that came with it.

So Dean, ever a giver and never a taker, had sat idly by for almost four years, until Sammy had headed off to college in New York. Originally, the kid had wanted to head out to Cali, but Sam had taken the time and effort to push him towards the other coast and Sarah Blake. They'd been married for two years and had a bouncing baby boy named Mike.

And what had Sam done for those twelve years before he'd driven himself to the college campus and shoved everything into a tiny dorm room? Well, he'd kept himself busy with odd jobs, mostly helping Missouri with customers and shoveling sidewalks during the winter. Had it been enough to support a family of three? Of course not. That was why they'd lived with Sammy's psychic tutor.

Smiling to himself, Sam glanced back in the mirror. Dean and Sammy were standing up on the front porch to the house, laughing and talking, closer than they'd ever been. Mike was squirming in his uncle's arms, begging to be let down so he could run and play while the brothers said good-bye.

Sam settled back in the seat, positive that he'd done the right thing all those years ago. Staying behind, moving to Lawrence, giving the Colt to Missouri for safe keeping, feigning normalcy while hunting on the weekends, it was all worth it. Just to see Dean smile.

"Don't be a stranger," Sammy called after his brother as Dean stalked toward the car.

"No problem, little brother," Dean replied, turning to wave one last time, "just so long as your wife keeps on cooking like that."

The driver's side door opened and Dean slid in, glancing over his shoulder to see his brother and nephew retreating into their house. He smiled.

"You know," Sam muttered, turning to his son and grinning, "we could always stay a little longer if you want to."

"Are you kidding me?" Dean asked, "that guy's so boring. Just staying in one place all the time, working 9-5? That kind of life would _kill _me."

"He got inside your head again, didn't he?"

"No, this time he just pinned me to the wall. Scared me, too. He wasn't even in the room. Thought that freakin' demon was back."

Sam grinned as Dean started up the car. The demon had been gone for seven years. They'd followed the signs, tracked it down, and shot it through the head. They'd made sure it was dead before burning the body it had been inhabiting. It was the last time the three of them had ever been on a hunt together, and it had honestly scared Sam. The things his youngest son could do now, without even breaking a sweat… it was unnerving.

"So," Dean began, breaking an awkward silence as the Impala roared down the road, leaving Lake Moore and Sammy's lakeside cabin in the dust, "what are we up against this time?"

"Skin walker," Sam explained, marveling at the way Dean always seemed to avoid silences, like he thought someone might crack. He'd known for a long time that Dean was still scared of him and the things that could happen if he ever left. The nervousness was still there, the subtle fear in his eyes, but he was doing a great job of hiding it. It hurt Sam to realize that seventeen years as a family hadn't changed his son's opinion of him, though. Whatever he'd done, or threatened to do, in the past must have really effected the younger hunter.

"You got a location?"

"Huh?" Sam snapped out of his stupor, "oh, uh, yeah. East Texas. Just a few miles north of Richardson."

"All right. Sounds good. We got the bullets in the trunk?"

"Sure thing."

"How far away?"

"Half a continent," Sam said, grinning, "so step on it, chauffeur."

"Whatever you say, _pops_," Dean smirked.

"Jerk."

"Bitch."

* * *

Taa-DAAAAAA!!!! That's all folks.

So, as always, thanks so much for reading and reviewing, and, hey, who knows? Maybe some day I might do another one. That day is just not today, though. I've got storylines backed up for miles in my head, and another one of these... well, let's just say it'll have to wait.

Mummyluvr :)


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